


4'33"

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Classical Music, Concerts, Drama, Friendship, M/M, Musicians, Romance, Violins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 63,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: there is silence in sound, and there is beauty in differences.(bin is a musician. dongmin is a musician. they clash, and they love.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im bringing back the ORIGINAL 4'33". i like it better than i thought. i missed it more than i thought. please enjoy.

_**How is it that[music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baZGdj0xLYg&list=PLFPSkvnEuN6jwaJOsaldsAg7AMd6EKUUO&index=2&t=0s) can** _

_**without words, evoke our laughter, our fears,** _

_**our highest aspirations?** _

There was something wonderful about hearing a composition being brought to life.

Lines on a paper becoming sound. Little notes and breaks and rhythms filtering through the concert hall. It filled the space with beauty and elegance, and as the pianist's fingers moved quickly over the keys, Dongmin wondered just how many audience members were lost in the noises, lost in the creation the pianist had made.

Composers were able to jot their ideas down onto paper. Dongmin was steadfast in his belief that sometimes a good piece was not written, necessarily, by a grand musician. Sometimes it was a combination of intelligence and a good ear, and thus a piece would be born unto the world. Now, whether or not that musician could _play_ the piece well and accurately was up for debate, and it was a debate that Dongmin quite adored engaging in. He had heard one too many students of various instrumental backgrounds compose pieces that, on paper, seemed magnificent. He had heard one too many of those same students absolutely ruin the piece with bad timing, horrendous skills, a lack of proper technique.

Worse, even, was when students would fluff up a composition that was already a masterpiece. Dongmin did not want to hear Bach's _Double Violin Concerto_ played with electric violins in a frenzied, out-of-rhythm manner, nor did he believe that _Pluto: The Renewer_ should ever be an official addition to Holst's original suite. 

It took a _good_ musician, a _brilliant_ musician, to play a piece of music in the way the composer had intended for it to be played. It took a _good_ musician, a _brilliant_ musician, to capture an audience while performing an age-old piece, to inspire interest and adoration within music that others had already heard thousands of times before.

And, so, as the pianist on stage finished his final notes, Dongmin moved with the crowd, giving him the standing ovation he deserved, smiling widely and clapping so hard he thought his fingers would fall off. The man, jittery and nervous, tried to remain calm and composed, but his lips pulled up in a grin, and rather than bowing, he waved out at the audience. Dongmin rolled his eyes, but refused to stop clapping or to sit down.

After all, the man had created the song. Even if it was written years and years ago by some deceased composer, even if many others had played the song before _this_ pianist, had spruced it up or “perfected” it, _this_ pianist had still managed to capture the hearts of everyone in the concert hall, had stayed true to the original while still _creating_ a masterpiece.

Dongmin smirked as the audience died down, taking their seats in anticipation for the next pianist. He hadn't expected anything less from Myungjun. After all, he had liked to think that he taught Myungjun everything he knew about music and pianos and _creation_.

And Myungjun had succeeded. He brought the piece to life.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

Backstage was loud, full of chattering and laughter and compliments. Dongmin pushed through the crowds of people greeting their loved ones, making his way to where a shorter, younger pianist stood, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs and glancing around at the faces. His eyes lit up when he caught sight of Dongmin, and he hurried forward, meeting the man halfway.

“Dongmin!” he exclaimed, his soft voice full of relief. “I thought you told me you'd be back here the moment it ended!”

“I tried,” Dongmin responded. He held out the flowers he had bought earlier, a lovely bouquet of yellow tulips. Myungjun gasped when he saw them, and Dongmin couldn't help but smile again. “I forgot I had left these in the car, though, and I wanted to give them to you.”

Myungjun cooed, taking the flowers and gently bringing them to his face in order to smell them. He seemed satisfied enough, glancing back over at Dongmin and grinning widely. “You didn't have to get me flowers, Minnie. It isn't like we're dating or anything. I mean, don't most people buy flowers for their loved ones, or for family members younger than they are?” Myungjun scoffed, but he certainly didn't look as if he was willing to relinquish his flowers so readily. “Besides, I would have rather you been here the moment the concert ended.”

Dongmin hummed in response, nodding his head, and then he reached a hand out. “So I suppose you would rather not have them?”

“I never said _that!_ ” Myungjun pulled the flowers in closer to his chest, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “You've given them to me, so no take-backs, okay?”

Dongmin _liked_ Myungjun. As weird as he was, as unconventional as he could be, Dongmin truly cared for him as more than just a student. He was a valuable friend, someone who made Dongmin laugh easily and smile easily, and he had never quite met anyone like him. 

There was an issue, however, when it came to music. Myungjun, for all of his skill and ability to follow the rules, often questioned _why_ he couldn't play music a different way. And, now, as Dongmin congratulated him on his best performance yet, he could tell that Myungjun's questions were coming yet again. The boy's face screwed up slightly in thought, and he shifted on each foot, before finally saying, “It was good.”

“It was _more_ than good. Your first performance in such a large venue, and you already played better than most of the men that came before you.”

Myungjun shook his head. “I don't think so. I think they played better. Years of practice, I guess.” He sighed. “It was pretty, I guess. It just felt rigid.”

Dongmin _knew_ what Myungjun was referring to. Back when he first started teaching Myungjun, at the urging of Myungjun's mother, who longed for Myungjun to become just as famous as Dongmin himself had become, Myungjun had always complained. He hated sitting rigid, he argued, he wanted to slouch more. He hated moving his fingers mechanically, he fussed, he wanted them to flow as if swimming through space. He especially hated following along with the notes and copying each and every one of them just as precisely as thousands of other pianists had before him.

He didn't understand the beauty in the technicalities, as Dongmin had come to. He referred to them as _chains_ , as barriers to creating _true_ beauty.

Dongmin didn't understand Myungjun's reluctance, however, to play a piece as the composer had written. He had offered different pieces for Myungjun to try, things that were more challenging or more bright, but Myungjun had found those compositions a little too difficult to follow along with. Besides, he had always stated, it was still _following_ rules someone else had set forth.

Myungjun had also expressed desire, once or twice, to give up the piano. Or, at least, to give up playing at concerts, even if he was getting astonishingly more amazing day by day, even if he was _going_ to make a name for himself, what with his skill set and his good looks, and (though Dongmin liked to remain humble most of the time) because of his status as Dongmin's student.

Already, other performers were looking over at the two, eyes remained solely on Dongmin himself. He heard whispers around him, people telling their families, “ _That's_ Lee Dongmin,” and he saw faces lit in recognition of his famous name. Dongmin had grown used to this, though, and so he regarded the people with disinterest.

Myungjun, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “It's getting crowded in here.”

“It's always been crowded in here,” Dongmin responded.

Myungjun bit down at his lip, obviously not enjoying all of the attention that was being directed towards Dongmin, and he muttered, “I think I want to quit the piano again, Dongmin.”

Not again. Dongmin held back a groan, knowing his initial, gut reactions typically forced Myungjun to angrily defend his position. He had learned that if he simply nodded his head and listened along to whatever it was Myungjun had to say, then it would all escape his system, and he would be good the very next day for his lessons and practices.

Still, he felt that he couldn't very well let it go, especially when he had fans around, fans who, upon hearing Myungjun's words, now looked down at the older boy in shock and surprise. 

Dongmin's reluctance to take in another pupil was infamous. He had lost count of how many promising pianists he had turned down. He thought they _could_ make it, possibly, but he worried they would become as experimental and as dangerous as Myungjun was. There was always a desire in bright, passionate pianists to toss aside the rule book and to go their own route, to create their own brand of music. 

Dongmin liked to think he only put up with Myungjun's interesting thoughts because they _were_ best friends, and because Myungjun would always cave and reluctantly admit that perhaps it was well enough to stick to what the guidelines directed.

Other people, those who were aware of Dongmin's lack of pupils, were listening now, as his one and _only_ pupil declared that he would quit right after such an amazing concert.

It wouldn't do good for Dongmin's image at all, and so Dongmin hurriedly pulled Myungjun aside, taking him down the hallway and finally finding somewhere empty enough to talk.

“ _Again_ ,” Dongmin echoed, using Myungjun's earlier words. “You want to quit the piano _again_.”

Myungjun nodded. He looked rather upset, hands gripping tightly at his flowers and his bottom lip chewed on once more. 

(Dongmin hoped he had remembered his chapstick; Dongmin also hoped he would forgo his anxiety-ridden habit one of these days.)

“You know me better than anyone,” Myungjun pointed out. “Playing the piano is...it's fun, I guess, but I _hate_ taking people's works and just copying them. I mean, if I wanted to hear it, I could just look online for the song and listen to it that way. I spend _hours_ and hours in my music. I hardly get much sleep the week before a concert, because I'm pouring over the music, studying the notes, _ingraining_ it all into my brain. And then I play it at the concert, and it just sounds like every other person who's ever played that song.” He sighed, one hand coming up to run through his hair, and, in effect, ruining the slicked style Dongmin had worked on for an hour that morning. “I wanted to do something special and unique, and instead I'm just performing pieces that everyone's already heard a thousand times over.”

Dongmin nodded his head, acting as if he understood, while he truly did not. He thought each piece sounded beautiful. He thought he could listen to them a thousand times over, even if Myungjun hated that thought. He didn't know why Myungjun would want to change something that people already adored. “I've told you before, though, Myungjun, that what you do with the music is special and unique. You take this piece that, by all accounts, everyone _should_ be sick of. You take it, and you still manage to keep their interest. You should have seen the audience; they could hardly take their eyes off of you. _I_ could hardly take my eyes off of you.”

“And, yet, you still had time to gauge their reaction,” Myungjun teased.

Dongmin snorted. “Hardly any time at all. A quick glance around me, and the corner of my vision, showed that people were enchanted with the music that you play.” He smiled brilliantly. “And I overheard some of the men beside me discussing your talents. They play for the KBS Symphony Orchestra, and I _know_ they have an audition coming up later on this year.”

“I tried out for it last year. I didn't get in.”

“You've practiced harder this year, and you've finally played in a large venue!” Dongmin gave Myungjun's shoulder a small pat. “You shouldn't give up just because of one bad audition.”

Myungjun pursed his lips, obviously in thought, but when he met Dongmin's gaze, he dropped the expression and just gave a sigh instead. “It's not because of the audition,” he admitted, “I just don't feel as passionate about all of this as you are, as everyone else around here is. I don't know, I think I stick with it at this point because it makes my mom happy, and you _know_ she's impossible to please.”

Dongmin was well aware of the issues Myungjun had with his mother. Myungjun's older brother was a soccer player, traveling overseas and bringing home trophies. As long as Dongmin had known Myungjun, the boy had never won _anything_ . He had auditioned for musicals, for choirs, for orchestras, and nothing ever seemed to go through. He had, at one period in his life, attempted to play soccer, to be just as his older brother was, but he ended up as the worst player on the team. He was twelve, with scraped knees and muddy shorts, when he cried to Dongmin that his mother had called him an _embarrassment_.

He had become Dongmin's pupil a few years later. He had confessed to Dongmin after some time that he resented Dongmin for a while, because Dongmin was talented, and Dongmin was smart, and Dongmin had earned the affection from Myungjun's mother. He was younger, too, and was instructing someone older than him how to properly play the piano.

It was an awkward time for them, and their friendship wavered often through the years, mostly after Dongmin grew frustrated with Myungjun's lack of sincerity with the piano, mostly after Myungjun grew frustrated with Dongmin's superior attitude.

But, still, they stuck together like glue. Dongmin was certain Myungjun would have left him a long time ago if only his mother had stopped paying for lessons, but, as it were, they had reluctantly continued their course.

Dongmin was happy they had. Myungjun was now his only _true_ friend, the only person who didn't regard him as a famous pianist, who instead would mutter under his breath about Dongmin's affinity for stupid cartoon characters and his fear of anything with zombies and his unnatural ability to burn everything he cooked. Now, it seemed, they were best friends, and Dongmin was unwilling to do anything to compromise their friendship.

Even if that meant he was forced to listen to Myungjun whine and complain about how _stupid_ these concerts were, he accepted it.

“If you don't like playing the piano, then there's no reason to force you into it,” Dongmin replied. “I think that you can go on to do great things, though. I think you can truly make a name for yourself, as I have.”

Myungjun frowned. “I don't care about doing that, though,” he said. “My brother did that, and I guess he got my mom's love and affection for him that way, but I just – I don't really want to be _famous_ , Dongmin.”

Dongmin stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “What do you want, then?”

“I don't know. Would it be dull of me to say _love_ ? And—and normalcy?” He played with the petals of the flowers. “I've told you before, I don't necessarily have a goal in life. I never did. It was always about pleasing my mom. I'd like to just settle down with money and—and I'd like to have a family. I don't know what it's like to have a _real_ one, Minnie.”

Dongmin had tried to mold Myungjun into a pianist, into someone who longed to play beautiful pieces up on a stage. Myungjun resisted, only caving when he felt there was nothing else that he was _good_ at, nothing else that would please his mother. Dongmin knew, though, the moment Myungjun was granted an opportunity to live comfortably without playing the piano, he would take it in a heartbeat.

Dongmin would feel like a failure if Myungjun were to leave him. As his one and only pupil, Myungjun _needed_ to make it big, to prove to the world that Dongmin could pass on his own rigid talents and make them just as famous as he was himself. If Myungjun left before he was scouted into an orchestra of sorts, then it would all be for naught, and Dongmin's more conventional ways might be tossed aside as _useless_ and _worthless_.

Just as much as Myungjun needed Dongmin for love, Dongmin needed Myungjun for acceptance. 

“You'll have one, soon,” Dongmin promised. He smiled again, gently, and hooked arms with Myungjun. “In any case, maybe hanging around all of these old men makes you a little depressed.”

“A little,” Myungjun admitted.

“It's a good thing, then, because I have us reservations at your favorite seafood place.” Myungjun's eyes widened, sparkling with hope, and Dongmin continued, “The one with the private rooms and the really good octopus—”

“You booked as a room?” Myungjun squealed, jumping up once and jostling his flowers. “You're the _best_ , oh my gosh, what time are we supposed to be there at? Should we go ahead and go now?”

Dongmin laughed, pleased that he had managed to lift Myungjun's spirits (and, at the same time, curb the doubts and hesitation Myungjun consistently wrestled with). “I told them we would be there anytime before eight.” Dongmin checked his watch, nodding when he noticed it was only a little past seven. “I can drive us down there, if you're all done here.”

“Am I _ever_ ,” Myungjun muttered, dragging Dongmin back down the hallway. “It's so stuffy in here, and I need to go before I'm cornered by someone else congratulating me on my playing.”

Dongmin gave a slight tsk of his tongue as he was pulled along through the backstage area. “You deserve to be congratulated,” he pointed out. “You did very well.”

Myungjun didn't answer him, save for a small mumble of thanks, but even from his spot, Dongmin could tell that his words were well-received. Myungjun's ears were bright red and his face was beginning to get flushed, too. He was always like that with compliments, Dongmin thought with a smile, always denying that he did well, but blushing like a fool regardless. It was one of his quirks, one of the reasons Dongmin was so fond of him.

Myungjun _was_ passionate, as much as he tried to tell himself he wasn't. Dongmin didn't know if the passion was from playing the piano, or if it was from simply being shown affection, but he decided that no matter what, he loved Myungjun just fine.

He only hoped that, maybe one day, Myungjun would grow to understand the life that he brought into a composition, the beauty he created armed with only an instrument, the way everyone held onto his every note. Because while he was a perfect friend, he was not yet a perfect musician.

Dongmin longed to change _him_ , just as he longed to change the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we continue with minimal changes. onward!

_**Music has[healing](https://youtu.be/l87Fkcx_SCs) power. ** _

_**It has the ability to take people** _

_**out of themselves for a few hours.** _   
  


Dongmin had considered himself to be an extremely dedicated student, back when he had not yet fully mastered the piano. He practiced for days on end, fingers sore and hurting by midnight, but determined already, at such a young age, to become nothing but the  _ best _ piano player possible. He had assumed most of the professionals were similar. He had assumed that most of the students he saw were similar, too.

He assumed most of them were  _ not _ Myungjun.

“It's time for a break!” the older boy announced, not even half an hour after completing his warm-ups. He giggled at the exasperation written across Dongmin's face, then stretched his arms out into the air over his head. The t-shirt he wore rode up, displaying a sliver of sun-kissed skin before Myungjun tugged it back down again, muttering out a soft apology as he stood from his position.

Dongmin glanced down at his watch, then back up at his student. “Myungjun,” he complained, “we still have several  _ hours _ left to work on this next piece. You've barely just arrived here!”

“And already I feel overworked.” Myungjun took Dongmin's shocked silence as opportunity to close his music book and set it aside. He scrambled over the piano bench, grabbing Dongmin's hands and tugging on them. “I figured we can go try this cute shop that opened up recently down the road from that ramen place I really enjoy.”

“I'm being paid by your mother to  _ teach _ you. I can't do my job if we're off getting food.”

Myungjun scoffed, renewing his efforts to pull Dongmin away from the piano. “My mom should expect something like this. Anyway, I don't have another concert for a month or two, right? Plenty of time to tone up on my skills then!” As if he noticed Dongmin's uncertainty, he whined, “I'm a fast learner, Dongmin! You know that more than anyone. I'll learn whatever piece you give me in a full week, but right now I'm hungry, and I'm sure you are, as well.”

He wasn't  _ wrong _ , necessarily. Dongmin had given up breakfast that morning in an effort to find the perfect piece for Myungjun's next recital, and he could feel his stomach quietly rumbling, begging him for some sort of nourishment. 

Besides that, once Myungjun was determined  _ not _ to do something – especially when it came to piano practice – he wouldn't rest until he was happily wasting time on something  _ else _ .

Dongmin was happy he was good friends with Myungjun. If not, he would have already gone insane by that point.

“What type of food is it?” he asked with a loud sigh, easily giving in to Myungjun's wide, hopeful smile. 

The boy cheered and tossed Dongmin his coat before grabbing his own. “They really specialize in jokbal! And maybe we can have some soju-”

“It's still morning.”

“Never too early,” Myungjun retorted, and he was quick to open the door and gesture Dongmin outside.

Myungjun had always been of great interest to Dongmin. He experienced life differently; though they shared very similar experiences together now, Myungjun always had a unique way of seeing things. He found happiness, and beauty, and excitement in whatever he did. He also had no qualms with change, no frustrations with wasted money, no set  _ goals _ in life. He lived as he pleased, liked what he pleased, and said what he pleased.

Dongmin wasn't quite sure what got him to that point. His mother had been overbearing, relentless,  _ terribly _ mean and rude to him, and yet Myungjun never once let it wear him down totally.

Or, so his outward appearance suggested. Myungjun had never been keen on talking such serious matters. He brushed them aside and chose to focus on something more trivial and mundane.

_ Piano _ usually fell into Myungjun's category of trivial and mundane.

“Dongmin, do you ever wonder  _ why _ it's so important at these recitals to remain perfectly true to the original piece?” As if on cue, Myungjun instantly delved into his topic of choice. He walked on the edge of the sidewalk, closest to the street, balancing as best he could with his arms outstretched. Dongmin, ever the worrier, walked right beside him, ready to catch him should he fall.

“There's nothing to wonder about,” Dongmin responded. “It's not a sort of performance for creating a new piece. It's for creating an older piece.”

Myungjun snorted, teetering slightly before gaining his footing. “You always say that,” he mumbled. 

“Because you always ask the same question.”

“It's something I have always wondered, though, and you don't have a great answer for it.” Myungjun scooted closer to Dongmin, forgoing his adventure of traveling on the edge in order to now walk on the straighter, safer path. It was the path Dongmin appreciated; it was the path he  _ wanted _ Myungjun to love, as well. “I think playing an instrument should be about more than regurgitating a piece from memory. Lots of people can do that. I think it should be about expressing your  _ own _ feelings and emotions!”

Dongmin had always thought that Myungjun would work brilliantly in the artistic realm. While Myungjun claimed he wasn't the best of artists, Dongmin could see him at an easel, painting vivid colors onto his blank canvas, fully creating something that he would be able to call his own.

For now, though, he was a musician, because his mother said he had to take lessons and because Myungjun had no dreams to chase after for his own. It was sad, but so long as he remained a student, Dongmin would do his best to mold him into shape.

“You  _ can _ create your own piece,” Dongmin responded as they turned a corner. “It's just for the concerts, Myungjun.”

“I'd like to create my own piece for my next concert.”

Dongmin couldn't help but smile, and he patted Myungjun's back. “I don't think that would be allowed. Let's just focus on finding you a piece that will help propel you further into stardom.”

He could tell by the look on Myungjun's face that it wasn't ideal to be some sort of famous musician. Myungjun had never really been keen on the idea, but it was what he knew and what he was good at.

Dongmin felt selfish, sometimes, by continuing to push Myungjun into a lifestyle he didn't even want. He felt as if he didn't do any of it for Myungjun's sake; if he  _ did _ , then surely he would help him find some other lifestyle choice. But Dongmin wanted a student who was amazing, wanted a student he could pass his own teachings onto, and Myungjun was someone who wasn't  _ willing _ , necessarily, but was trapped in those lessons, anyway, forced into becoming a pianist by his crazy mother. It made Dongmin feel pity towards his friend.

And, yet, he continued to push and pull and prod. He aided Myungjun's mother in  _ her _ dreams, and kept any of Myungjun's secret, hidden goals locked away.

As they neared the shop, Dongmin continued to mull over his own personal demons, and so it was a shock when Myungjun suddenly shoved him with a gasp.

“What's wrong?” Dongmin questioned, shaken from his thoughts.

Then he heard it.

Music.

It was a gorgeous violin solo, coming from just down the street where a small crowd had gathered. Dongmin was absolutely clueless on the piece that was being played, but noted with slight interest that it sounded more contemporary. It was graceful, though, catching the attention of all who walked close by. Dongmin could see eyes sparkling with admiration, bodies leaned in further to catch an even richer tone of the beautiful violin.

Despite knowing nothing about the piece that was being played, Dongmin enjoyed it. It was bright and filled his chest with feelings of joy and peace. When Dongmin glanced over at Myungjun, he could tell it had the same affect, and he felt pleased he wasn't alone in his awe.

It was a masterpiece. It was a creation. It was an experience that Dongmin would never forget, standing there on the narrow sidewalk, surrounded by the smell of vehicle gasoline and sizzling street foods.

The song ended, and the people watching clapped enthusiastically. Myungjun joined along with them, and bumped hips with Dongmin, urging him to make the same noise.

Dongmin was more polite, more subdued, though he felt his chest almost ready to burst from the emotions the song had instilled within him.

The crowd parted, revealing a young man as the owner of the gorgeous tune. He was hardly older than Dongmin himself, it seemed, with messy brown hair and a smile that definitely matched the tone of the song he had just performed. He was genuinely happy to accept compliments, to thank people for watching, to bow at each and every person who gave him a thumbs-up. 

Dongmin had opinions on street artists. He thought of them as washed-up musicians who couldn't quite make it into a more professional stage of life. He assumed they were begging for money at any chance they received, pleased to do nothing more than cave to the whims of the crowd in order to make a living.

But there was no collection plate here. In fact, as people tried to pass off money, the violinist rejected it all, shaking his head and smiling widely still, talking rapidly to whoever offered. It was intriguing; Dongmin was mildly interested in this man.

(He tried not to admit to himself that he also found the man exceedingly attractive – if he ignored his feelings, perhaps they would disappear.)

“Wow,” Myungjun exhaled, gripping onto Dongmin's sleeve. “Did you  _ hear _ that, Dongmin? He was amazing, wasn't he? Probably one of the best violinists I've ever heard in my life!”

Dongmin needed to be nonchalant about these things. It wouldn't do good to betray his inner feelings, the crush that may or may not have been slowly blossoming in his chest, watered with those emotions of happiness that the man had already introduced to him. So he shrugged as a reply to Myungjun's question. “I've seen better at concerts.”

“You've seen  _ professional _ at concerts. You've seen stodgy old men sit around and rate each other over how well each one played the exact same piece of Paganini.” Myungjun pointed a finger in the violinist's direction, gesturing at him, adding, “I think that was a western piece. Some pop song I've heard on the radio before.”

Dongmin's nose scrunched up. “He played a modern pop song on his violin?”

“Yeah, because  _ you're _ the only one who doesn't appreciate that sort of thing,” Myungjun grumbled. “You and the stodgy old men.”

“I never said I didn't appreciate it. I just...” Dongmin trailed off, still staring at the man before him, who was now packing up his violin. “It's different than what I'm used to, I guess.”

Myungjun nodded. “Because you're used to stodgy old men.”

“Stop-”

Before he could get another word out, however, Myungjun began to pull at his arm for the second time that day; this time, he was leading Dongmin toward the violinist. “Let's go say hey!” Myungjun exclaimed. “Let's go tell him who you are! If he's  _ that _ good with the violin, I'm sure he's bound to know, anyway!”

It was true; typically people who were heavily engaged in the musical realm knew of Dongmin's name, of his notoriety and skill. Even street musicians were aware of who Dongmin was, and Myungjun regularly took advantage of that fact in order to strike up conversation with any performers he thought were exceptionally talented.

(Dongmin sometimes suspected Myungjun would run off and become a street performer himself. Myungjun had always denied that, though he teased it would be preferable to playing in concert halls. “But,” he would sigh loudly, “pianos are too heavy to lug through the streets of Seoul.”)

Dongmin didn't want to be recognized by a street performer usually, and especially not with this one.  _ This one _ was different than the others; he looked charming, with a wide, sweet smile and a soft gaze. He was talented, too, and seemed kind, and Dongmin didn't wish to make a fool of himself in front of such a man.

He was famous for playing the piano, and Myungjun always joked he was secretly famous for his awful luck in the dating field.

So he tried to escape Myungjun's grasp, not very willing to look like an idiot today, but he found that the older boy was surprisingly strong for how small he looked, and it was impossible to halt Myungjun's determined stride forward. Before Dongmin knew it, he was in front of the most handsome man he had ever seen in his life, and he had nothing at all to say.

Myungjun was great with small-talk, however, and so he quickly started up the conversation. “That was  _ amazing! _ ” he announced, and the violinist looked up from where he was still packing, appearing both startled and slightly confused. When he noticed Myungjun and Dongmin standing there, though, he smiled again, that same, gorgeous smile, and straightened up.

He was tall and had a good sense in fashion, and that made Dongmin's heart beat all the faster.

“You think so?” the violinist asked, voice light and a little higher-pitched than Dongmin would have assumed just by looking over the man's appearance.

Dongmind was still unable to talk, unable to answer the question posed, refusing to look  _ dumb _ , and so Myungjun responded in his place. “I did! I mean, we  _ both _ did – I recognized the song, too! I've heard it play on the radios here. I never heard it like  _ that _ , though! It was such a cool twist, and it was just lovely to hear! Wasn't it, Dongmin?”

Given the chance to talk, Dongmin cleared his throat, but found that all he really could do in the presence of such a handsome man was nod his head.

The man laughed, looking a little bashful now, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You guys flatter me, really! It's just a hobby of mine, playing the violin, and I think it would be nice for others to hear it.”

Myungjun's eyes were still shining. “It was nice! I'm sure everyone liked it a lot! If I had any cash on me, I'd give you some-”

“I wouldn't accept. You should donate it, instead, to the children's music school I work with. It's way down  _ that _ street.” He pointed, but neither Dongmin nor Myungjun could readily take their eyes off of him, so with another giggle, the man continued, “They're not getting enough money, especially since they take in a lot more low-income students, so they can't afford equipment. But if you two don't mind donating...” He trailed off as he seemed to catch onto Myungjun's enthusiastic nodding, and then he grinned. “You're definitely eager to help.”

“Oh, Dongmin and I love music. I play the piano, you know! Kim Myungjun – you might have seen me at my first recital last week, if you were part of the audience. And Dongmin here-”

“I'm his friend.” 

Dongmin finally spoke his first words, trying to clear up any issues before they actually arose, trying to keep his occupation a secret. There was no recognition in the man's eyes, no familiarity, and Dongmin realized that the violinist had no idea he was famous for his piano skills. For  _ once _ , someone interested in music was left in the dark, and Dongmin wanted to take advantage of it. He wanted to discuss technicalities of instruments, the beauty in compositions, the excitement in concerts, without being revered and worshiped. It would be such a new experience, one that Dongmin was very willing to soak in for as long as he could.

The man glanced at Dongmin briefly, smiling again. “I'm Moon Bin,” he greeted, and he turned back to Myungjun. “Your friend has a nice voice, but I feel like he won't answer me if I tell him that.”

“I would,” Dongmin retorted as Myungjun tittered. “I'm not a mute.”

“You rendered him speechless with your music,” Myungjun said, hiding his mouth behind his hands in order to stifle his laugh. “Which is actually difficult to do. Good job, Moon Bin!”

“I'm glad I could make something you enjoyed!” Bin exclaimed. “I mean, to the both of you! It's always nice to hear people appreciate what I compose.”

“You composed that?” Myungjun asked, and awe filled his tone once more.

Bin shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, from the  _ original _ song, yeah. I made it up for a violin solo.”

It was something that Dongmin knew Myungjun longed to do, and so he wasn't shocked by how excited Myungjun appeared to be. Still, before Bin could plant any ideas into Myungjun's head and ruin Dongmin's selfish, selfish desires, he cut in. “So you just play out here for fun? Is that it?”

“Yup!” Bin picked up his violin case and held it by his side. “For myself, and to promote the school I work at,  _ and _ just to see the expressions on everyone's faces when they hear something they love. Like your expression.” Bin pointed at Myungjun, whose ears were turning a mysterious shade of red, a surefire sign he was embarrassed about something or other. “It's cute. And yours-” Bin turned to Dongmin next and cocked his head to the side. “Yours, though, I can't quite put my finger on. I don't know if you're impressed or upset with me.” Bin laughed, and he didn't seem to expect an answer, for he continued, “I have to go now, though. I have some kids coming in soon for a class, and I don't want to be late.” He was already backing up, already gearing to rush down the street, but he waved first. “Be sure to donate money, Kim Myungjun!” he called as he got further away. “And, Dongmin, smile for me next time!”

Dongmin just stared stupidly as the man hurried around the corner, taking with him his violin and his talent and all of the joy that had started to settle in Dongmin's chest.

Myungjun summed it all up for him, in one breathless exclamation: “Wow, Dongmin. He's...perfect.”

He was, and Dongmin wondered if he could find Bin again, and if, whenever he did, Bin could replicate those emotions inside of him once more.

He was fairly certain Bin  _ could _ . It was just a matter of  _ when _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like this if u remember it

**After silence,**

**that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible**

**is[music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ey4n8vqlX_o&list=PLFPSkvnEuN6jwaJOsaldsAg7AMd6EKUUO&index=4&t=0s).**

Preparing for Myungjun's next concert was a tedious task. Myungjun had suddenly, somehow, become even  _ more _ flighty and prone to showing up late. Even when he was focused and concentrating on the task at hand, he seemed to enjoy it less than he had before.

At one point, he finally groaned and allowed his body to slump over, head banging into the keys and creating a loud, horrendous note across Dongmin's piano room.

“Why am I torturing myself like this, Dongmin?” Myungjun asked sullenly, closing his eyes as he slid off the piano keys.

Dongmin frowned; he didn't quite like the fact that Myungjun might have messed up his grand piano. It cost him a fortune, and the upkeep was expensive, too. So he wiped down the spot Myungjun had been and said, “Because you want to please your mother.”

“Do I, though?  _ Should _ I, though?”

“You like the piano.”

Myungjun frowned, jutting out his lower lip, then sat up properly and gazed over at Dongmin. “I don't like being judged for it, and I don't like dedicating my life to it. I enjoy it as a  _ hobby _ , I think. Concertss and performances are too much.”

Dongmin nodded his head. He didn't fully understand how Myungjun could think his immense talent in music could go to waste, but arguing with Myungjun accomplished nothing; he had learned that the hard way. Instead, he sat down on the bench next to his friend and cleared his throat. “What else would you do, though, if not the piano?”

“I told you before, I hadn't really thought of it.” 

There wasn't much else to say, really. They had discussed Myungjun's options many times before; Myungjun never seemed to quite know what it was  _ he _ wanted to do with the rest of his life. The only thing he was good at was the piano. The only thing he partially  _ enjoyed _ was the piano. He had no drive, no motivation for much else, except to find acceptance within a family of sorts. 

The piano gave him that acceptance. Dongmin was just the push along for it.

“For now,” Dongmin said, tapping a finger across the sheet music on the music rack, “why don't we just practice this for your concert coming up. I don't think you've fully mastered the entire thing.”

“I've played it at least ten times,” Myungjun argued, but he sat in position and straightened out his music, looking over the notes once before glancing down at the keys. “I could spice this song up a little, you know-”

“And the judges will disqualify you for it.” Dongmin stood from his spot and patted Myungjun's back. “Spice it up in your free time, not while we're practicing.”

And so they continued with their work. Myungjun didn't bring up his desire to quit again; he seemed to understand that Dongmin  _ knew _ already, and so he focused on completing the long composition. They practiced until late at night, when the stars were already hanging high up in the sky and the hustle and bustle of city traffic had died down. Myungjun's eyelids were drooping, and even Dongmin was hiding yawns behind his hand.

As they packed up the music, Myungjun nudged his shoulder into Dongmin. “Got space for a friend?” he questioned. Dongmin knew he was referring to spending the night, possibly holing up in the guest bedroom Dongmin had set aside (that no one used, save for Myungjun himself). And, honestly, Dongmin couldn't blame him. It was far too late for city buses, and Myungjun wouldn't want to walk all that way home.

Dongmin smiled easily, nodding his head. “You don't even have to ask at this point,” he teased. “You know I'd always let you stay over.”

Myungjun returned the smile, soft and pure, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Even though you torture me with this dumb music, you're a pretty good friend to have.”

It had  _ meant _ to just be a student-teacher relationship. But, as time passed, Dongmin really had grown to like Myungjun, even if it meant putting up with his crazy ideas and his lack of true passion. And, Dongmin decided, if Myungjun chose later to quit playing the piano, to give it up completely, Dongmin still longed to keep him by his side.

“I like to torture you,” Dongmin responded, “because that's something friends do.”

Myungjun laughed loudly. Dongmin thought it was more interesting to hear than the piano was.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

Myungjun's second concert was in an even larger venue than the first one was. Dongmin had fond memories of playing in this particular concert hall as a young child, soaking up the admiration and awe from all of the guests and other pianists. He had played Beethoven's  _ Moonlight Sonata _ , a piece that started soft and ended strong. It was perfect to showcase talent, to express emotion, and so Dongmin, in a flight of nostalgia, had chosen for Myungjun to play that same piece. Their practices had stretched on for long hours, until Myungjun could probably play the composition in his sleep. He was prepared, excited, even, to show off what he had learned.

Dongmin stood in the lobby, speaking to a few familiar faces from time to time, a large bouquet of sunflowers in his hand and his hair slicked back. He  _ knew _ Myungjun could wow everyone in the audience, and he knew this would open up an entire slew of opportunities for Myungjun's talents later in life. Perhaps, even, he'd find passion within this realm and continue onward with his training until he could become just as famous as Dongmin himself was.

He scanned the lobby, eyes trailing from the brilliantly bright chandelier, gazing across at all of the other attendees. Many of them might have been family members; the majority seemed to be wealthier patrons of the art, people who would never pass up the chance to dress in their finest clothes and tell their friends they enjoyed a night out at a concert of the likes.

There was one man, though, who seemed a little out of place. Rather than a tuxedo, or even a fine suit, he wore black jeans and a plain, white t-shirt with a black jacket over top of that. It was an odd ensemble for such an event; more casual than it was formal, and Dongmin felt himself being a little  _ too _ judgmental as he stared at the man.

He was about to turn and look away, deciding he didn't care enough to make a spectacle of himself by staring for too long, but before he could, another man came up, talking to the under-dressed man with excitement. And Dongmin  _ definitely _ recognized him.

The familiar man glanced up, eyes darting around the room, and then he, too, caught sight of Dongmin. He looked confused for a split second before smiling and waving, then hurrying over, his friend close behind him.

Dongmin couldn't remember a name, and he struggled for a few seconds before simply giving a small, “hello,” and bowing his head.

The man grinned, also bowing, and greeted, “Hey! You know Myungjun, don't you? You're the man I saw with him.”

“Oh. Yes. Um, Lee Dongmin. And, uh, you are?”

“Moon Bin!”

Right. Moon Bin. The man who played the violin so beautifully while forgoing all the rules. The man who worked at the failing children art's school. The man who had a charming, lopsided smile that made him look similar to a puppy of some sorts.

That Moon Bin.

Dongmin couldn't help but smile back, though he said nothing. He stupidly stared until the under-dressed man cleared his throat and stepped forward. “And I'm Park Jinwoo,” the man said, “Binnie's best friend in the entire world.”

“Well,” Bin murmured, “I wouldn't go  _ that _ far.”

Park Jinwoo scoffed. “Come off it. Who gave you a place to stay when you couldn't afford rent? And who had to deal with your mopey ass after your first boyfriend broke up with you? And who-”

“Park Jinwoo  _ is _ my best friend,” Bin quickly interjected, and Jinwoo gave a satisfied smirk. “Anyway, it's good to see you, Dongmin! Are those flowers for Myungjun?” He cooed lightly, and without waiting for Dongmin to reply, he continued, “You two are so cute together! Jinwoo, wait until you meet Myungjun, you'll see he and Dongmin just fit so perfectly!”

Dongmin blinked, processing Bin's words, then gave a slight laugh. “Oh! Oh, no, um, no, we're  _ not _ a couple. Definitely not.”

“Really?” Bin looked surprised, and a blush spread up to his cheeks. “I could have  _ sworn _ you two were. He was a little clingy to you when we first met. And he does like to talk about you. He says you're one of the most talented people he's ever known!”

“We're honestly just friends,” Dongmin replied, shaking his head. “I've known him since I was a child. I would  _ never _ date him. Honestly, he 's more like an irritating older brother whom I still love dearly.”

“Well, that's just as cute!” Bin responded. “Ah, damn, I should've got him flowers, too, though.”

“I told you,” Jinwoo said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He was so excited for you to come, I  _ told _ you that flowers were necessary.”

Bin shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I thought it might be weird if I brought him flowers when I thought he was dating someone. Now that he's single and it's a friendly thing, I guess it'd be fine. Hindsight would have been nice.” He sighed, but he didn't seem to be deterred. “Anyway, Dongmin, this starts in a minute or two, right?”

Dongmin nodded his head, then glanced over at the doors. People were filing in, and Dongmin cursed lightly in his head. Usually, he was the first one to head inside the theater hall, but he had been so caught up with Bin and Jinwoo that he had forgotten. “We should probably go get our seats,” he blurted out. “I like being in the front, or near the front, so I can watch him properly.”

He allowed Bin and Jinwoo to follow him, pushing past a few people in order to gather their seats. They sat in the front, though further to the right than Dongmin would have truly enjoyed, but he wasn't much upset. As long as he could watch Myungjun, ensure the boy's technique and skill was on show, then it would all be just fine.

Bin and Jinwoo talked quietly together as Dongmin checked his phone. He had received one text from Myungjun ( _ wish me luck! ( ﾟヮﾟ _ )), and one from Myungjun's mother.

_ Hello, Dongmin _ , the second text read,  _ I was hopeful that someone would offer my son the opportunity to play in even larger spaces. I have a feeling he will reject the offer, though, if it is given to him, so please ensure that you're nearby to take it for him. He will play in even larger spaces. Make sure of it, please. _

He didn't ever like communicating with Myungjun's mother. She never seemed to care about what her son truly wanted; and, because Dongmin was paid by her, he had to reject Myungjun's dreams and desires, as well, in order to remain in good standing with both the musical community, who expected him to hold a student for a while, and with Myungjun's mother, who sent large paychecks every two weeks for Dongmin's service.

He sighed, a little loudly, and attracted the attention of Bin, who sat right in between Dongmin and Jinwoo. Bin glanced over and whispered, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dongmin answered, pocketing his phone. “Just a bit of an issue with someone.”

Bin hummed, nodding his head, and patted Dongmin's shoulder. “Don't worry. I'm sure you'll figure it out,” he said. “Myungjun always told me that you were smart and could handle things on your own.”

Dongmin was ready to agree that it  _ would _ be fine, and that he  _ would _ figure it out, but all of Bin's words sounded muddled in his mind, and it caused confusion to blossom. Why was Bin talking as if he had known Myungjun for some time? They met once, weeks ago, and hardly had a chance to fully introduce themselves. Now, suddenly, Bin kept referring to Myungjun as if they were friends. “I have a question,” he whispered, but just as he leaned in to ask Bin what was going on, the director of the venue came on stage and asked for attention. Bin smiled patiently and put a finger to his lips, then mouthed, “after the show.”

So Dongmin was left to stew and mull over Bin's mysterious words and sudden relationship with Myungjun. He didn't pay attention to any of the other pianists who came on stage, ignoring their words and the sounds of the music. He clapped mindlessly after each one, following along with Bin and Jinwoo's gestures.

However, once Myungjun came up, Dongmin decided to forget everything Bin had said, if only for a little while. He needed to focus on his best friend, after all, regardless of what was going on. Myungjun had trained and had practiced for so long and Dongmin was excited to finally hear the music in such a large venue, filled with equally enthusiastic audience members.

Myungjun bowed to the guests and took his seat at the piano. His hair was fixed perfectly and his tuxedo was brand new. Dongmin had even put a bit of makeup on him, after Myungjun begged him to do  _ something _ about the bags under his eyes and the small patch of acne that had formed on his cheeks seemingly overnight. 

Myungjun looked handsome, breathtaking, under the shine of the theater lights, and Dongmin smiled fondly as his student, his best friend, began to play his composition.

It was slow at first, careful and low. Myungjun, despite his reluctance to even play at large venues, put as much passion as possible into delivering the piece in such a beautiful manner that Dongmin felt swept away. His long fingers glided over the keys with skillful ease, and his rich, brown eyes stayed entirely focused on his playing, on everything he was doing.

The first break came and went, and Myungjun continued. The piece grew lighter, more cheerful, and Dongmin knew that Myungjun  _ loved _ that portion of it. He smiled as he played, too, dimples showing in his cheeks; Dongmin couldn't help but smile along with him.

Something changed with the next break, though. It was the more difficult part of the composition. Myungjun's fingers had slipped many times during practice, as he grew overzealous in his proficiency, but he had finally mastered it, and had practiced those pages over and over again until he had perfected it.

He glanced over during the short break in the music, eyes quickly scanning the crowd. He smiled again when he saw Dongmin, but lost his smile as his gaze traveled across Bin and Jinwoo. Just as fast as he had even looked over at the three of them, he was back at his music, starting a bit too early, playing a bit too harshly. It didn't carry the same beautiful tune it had before. It was rushed now, and Myungjun's passion was lost.

Still, Dongmin thought as he held his breath, the music  _ could _ still be saved and Myungjun could still come out of this just fine. At first, at least, the notes were all the same, and Myungjun  _ knew _ what he was doing.

But then he hit the wrong key. 

The music began to fall apart then. Myungjun tried to continue onward, tried to salvage whatever he could of the composition, but he hit one more wrong key.

The song stopped.

There was slight coughing heard in the crowd, a small murmur of confusion rising up as people wondered exactly what was wrong with Myungjun. He  _ had _ been doing just fine before, and now, suddenly, he sat in silence at his piano, face filled with panic and worry.

He didn't try to fix it. He stood from his seat, the bench scraping loudly across the stage flooring, and without giving the audience so much as a second glance, he bowed, then rushed to the side, disappearing through the same exit he had come out of.

Dongmin felt guilt and pity course through his veins. After all, it had been  _ his _ doing that caused Myungjun to go up on stage and perform, when Myungjun had stated, time and time again, that he didn't want to. He had forced Myungjun to stay at his place late into the night in order to practice the difficult movement the composition required. He had tried so desperately to mold Myungjun into something he wasn't.

And now Myungjun had humiliated himself up on stage. Dongmin had seen the fearful look in his gaze as he had hurried away. People were talking, too, about his lack of professionalism; the man sitting on Dongmin's other side scoffed to his wife and muttered, “That kid doesn't deserve to be up here if that's how he plays.”

Dongmin ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't mind at all if it messed up his hairdo, or if he looked like a wreck. Myungjun was worse off, probably, backstage by himself with all of the judgmental old men he complained of constantly.

Dongmin glanced over at Bin, who was whispering something to Jinwoo.

“Bin?”

Bin startled, then both he and Jinwoo looked at Dongmin. “Yeah?”

“He's  _ good _ , I promise, I don't know what happened. He got flustered. I don't know-”

“Oh, I know he's good!” Bin assured him; Jinwoo nodded his head enthusiastically. “He's played once or twice for me, when he's come to volunteer, so I've heard him.”

“Volunteer?” Dongmin cocked his head. “For-”

He didn't have time to question it, though. He didn't  _ care _ at the moment what Myungjun was doing hanging around Bin. His friend was by himself, and Dongmin needed to be with him. He stood from his seat, making sure to stay low so as to not impede anyone else's view of the empty stage, and whispered, “I'm going to go check on him.”

Bin nodded his head, then also stood; Jinwoo followed in his stead. “We'll come.”

“Oh, no, you don't have to, honestly. I don't want to ruin your viewing-”

“We only came for Myungjun,” Bin replied with a small giggle. “So I'm not going to  _ want _ to sit here and see the rest of them. It gets a bit boring after a while, anyway.”

Bin was so sweet. Bin was so cute. Dongmin smiled along with Bin's laugh, but then remembered he was only here for  _ Myungjun _ . His possible infatuation with Bin would have to wait.

“Alright,” he murmured, and gestured for Jinwoo and Bin to sneak with him out of the concert hall, just as the director was onstage apologizing for the inconvenience and introducing the next pianist.

He felt worry grasp at his heart again the closer he walked toward the backstage area. Myungjun had worked so hard for this composition, and something had made it all fall apart. He bit his lip, gnawing at it lightly between his teeth, until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Bin whispered, grasping onto him lightly. Dongmin glanced over at the man, who expressed nothing but warmth and composure in his gaze. “Myungjun will be fine. Just be sweet to him. Give him those flowers! He's tough, and he'll be alright.”

Once more, Dongmin was filled with curiosity. How did Myungjun and Bin become friends? Why were they suddenly so close? And why was Bin so close to Dongmin at the moment, so handsome, and so  _ perfect? _

He dispelled those thoughts, once more, from his mind. Instead of focusing on anything else around him, he nodded his head. “Thanks,” he murmured to Bin, and he continued forward to the backstage rooms, intent on ensuring, first and foremost, his best friend was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we continue with the musical journey

**You're like a[song](https://youtu.be/iunX6wL8lBM) that I heard **

**when I was a little kid**

**but forgot I knew**

**until I heard it again.**

It wasn't too difficult to find Myungjun. He was always outside of the crowd that had gathered in the other backstage areas, forgoing conversation in order to sit by his lonesome, either going over his performance in his mind or else packing up and ready to go. Now, though, as Dongmin found him, he was instead staring at the ground forlornly, lips pressed together in a thin line and hands gripping tightly at his knees, fingers digging into skin. A few other pianists stood around, waiting for their chance to go on stage, whispering among themselves about Myungjun's failure of a performance. 

Dongmin paid them no attention. He pushed passed them, intent only on his friend, who glanced up with disinterest.

“Hey,” Dongmin greeted, sitting down in the empty chair beside Myungjun.

Myungjun scoffed and slumped over all the more. “I don't feel like getting into it with you right now,” he mumbled. When Dongmin didn't respond, he continued, “My mom is going to hear about it somehow. One way or another. You know she will. She's made friends with a few of the other pianists around here. I'm already going to hear  _ her _ have to scold me. I don't want you to scold me, too. One disappointed person in my life is enough.”

He would have kept rambling, probably, if Dongmin didn't quietly shush him, bringing an arm up to rub at his shoulder. “I'm not going to scold you,” he said. “There's no reason to do  _ that _ .” He supposed Myungjun already felt humiliated enough with ruining his big performance. He would never choose to add onto that. Besides, he felt more worried about  _ why _ it happened. Myungjun had seemed confident enough earlier in the song. Dongmin tried to think back to what might have caused his sudden mishap. 

Before he could ask, however, Myungjun suddenly lowered his voice to a whisper. “The others are talking about me.” He glanced up, at the small group of pianists nearby, who all looked away when they noticed Myungjun's gaze. “They were doing it loudly, before you came in. Like they wanted me to hear.”

Dongmin blinked. He couldn't remember pianists being rude to someone who made a few mistakes. They were always pleasant enough to him, up until he refused to take on any more students. “What were they talking about?” he asked.

Myungjun pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. “Just...stuff.” He played with his fingers, still situated on his knees. “You know, I never wanted to be a pianist.”

“I know.”

“I did it to make my mom happy. I did it to make her love me.”

Dongmin frowned. “She does love you, Myungjun. She's just—”

“No, Dongmin, you didn't have to live with her.” Myungjun's voice was taut, strained, exhausted. The boy had bags under his eyes and he had lost weight. Dongmin felt a twinge of guilt; perhaps he pushed him too far for this. “Growing up, it was always,  _ why can't you be more like your brother? Why are you useless? Why...why did I have to give birth to you? _ ”

Myungjun talked about his unhealthy relationship with his mother often, but he never delved too deeply into the subject. He always made jokes, or else changed topics of the conversation. He tried to brush off whatever it was she had said. But, as Dongmin stared at him, he realized he never truly forgot any of her words. He remembered them, rehashed them in his mind, allowed them to consume him alive.

“I don't know what I want anymore, Dongmin.” Myungjun exhaled loudly, his eyes dropping back to the floor. “I want to make her happy. But I can't. I screw up whatever I try to do.”

“Well,” Dongmin started, “maybe we can figure out what went wrong, and we can try to ensure it doesn't happen again.”

He was met with another sigh. “I don't know.”

“You had been doing fine up until that part. What was different?”

Myungjun was quiet for a second, then he glanced up at Dongmin. “Who was that with Binnie?”

“What?” He still couldn't wrap his mind around how Bin and Myungjun were suddenly friends; he had meant to ask, but with everything that was going on, he had forgotten. “Binnie?”

“Bin,” Myungjun corrected. “The guy beside him. Who was that?”

Dongmin shrugged his shoulders. “I think his name is Jinwoo. I'm not sure. I just met him, and Bin didn't really explain much. Why?”

But Myungjun countered Dongmin's question with one of his own. “Had he been there the whole time? Did he tag along with Bin?”

“I...yes.” Dongmin blinked. Myungjun was interested in discussing Jinwoo. Myungjun had messed up after looking over at the audience, over at Dongmin himself, and Bin, and then he had seen Jinwoo- 

“Oh,” Dongmin murmured, his eyebrows rising. “Myungjun, did you become flustered because of Jinwoo?”

He wasn't given a direct answer. Myungjun just clicked his tongue up against the roof of his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. “I just messed up.”

“If you messed up because you think someone is  _ cute _ , that's a big deal,” Dongmin said. He found it adorable, really, that perhaps Myungjun had become like a schoolchild seeing someone pretty. However, he didn't like the fact that Myungjun couldn't keep his composure in the middle of a big performance. “Your infatuation with someone should  _ not _ come over the piano. If you want to make it big, and if you want to please your mom—”

“I  _ said _ I don't want someone else to scold me, too,” Myungjun snapped. He glared, too, his normally-soft brown eyes darkened as they stared at Dongmin. “I screwed up. I'm  _ sorry _ . I humiliated myself more than I did you, though, and I don't want to discuss it.”

Dongmin felt bad for pushing anything, for trying to scold Myungjun, and so he nodded his head in agreement. It happened, and there was nothing to be done to change it. He couldn't go back in time; he might as well move forward, then.

“Why don't we leave?” he asked, standing from his seat. “Better to go elsewhere than to stay here, where certain people won't stop staring.” He was loud, harsh in tone, ensuring the young pianists nearby flushed in embarrassment and turned away from where they had been openly staring at Myungjun's pitiful form.

Myungjun seemed shocked that Dongmin wasn't going to continue scolding him, but it wasn't as if he would try to argue. He stood, too, following Dongmin toward the hallway again. When he spotted Bin and Jinwoo waiting near the lobby, he froze for a second, but one small tug from Dongmin made him continue. However, they were stopped just short of the other two men, someone stepping in sudden enough to make Dongmin and Myungjun bump into each other as they halted.

Dongmin recognized the man blocking their path; Cho Jisu, a famous pianist who had traveled the world at least thrice, playing beautiful compositions and awing audiences everywhere. He had always been kind and polite to Dongmin, and so Dongmin offered him a smile.

It wasn't at all returned.

“You had become a little infamous, Dongmin, for not taking in but one student,” Jisu started, regarding Myungjun with interest. There was no greeting, no warmth, nothing but mockery in his gaze. “And I was curious to see what type of student it would be. Someone intelligent, I had thought. Someone talented, too. Someone worthy to work under the name  _ Lee Dongmin _ .” He smirked, eyes traveling up and down Myungjun's smaller body. “I guess I was wrong.”

Dongmin grasped tightly onto Myungjun's hand. He could see Bin and Jinwoo watching the proceedings curiously, and so he tried to sidestep around Jisu. “We're busy,” was his response, but Jisu didn't stop talking.

“I had many colleagues who were also curious. I invited them to come today. I told them that Dongmin would  _ never _ just pick some idiot up off the streets to play piano for him. Do you realize, Dongmin, how stupid the  _ both  _ of us look now? Myself, telling lies, and you, with the most untalented boy I've ever—”

“Hey!” Jisu was cut off by the loud voice of Jinwoo, who was already hurrying forward with Bin by his side. Both of them looked frustrated; somehow, Jinwoo looked more angry than Bin. He looked offended himself, and he pushed in between Jisu and Dongmin. Despite being shorter, he was definitely more threatening, and he continued, “You're pathetic — Myungjun made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes playing an instrument! Yours might be in private; his just happened to be on the stage. But it's no reason to complain to them about it, especially not when Dongmin already told you that they're busy.”

Jisu wrinkled his nose. He focused his gaze first on Jinwoo's dark, red hair, then down at his casual outfit. “They just let anyone into these events these days, don't they?” he murmured.

Bin seemed quite ready to retort, and even Dongmin stepped forward, but Jinwoo was quicker to the punch. He grabbed Myungjun's arm from Dongmin and tugged him aside. Myungjun, who had been quiet, accepting all of the complaints, looked shocked to suddenly be defended in such a manner. His face flushed, too, the moment Jinwoo had touched him, and he stumbled along with Jinwoo's movements. “They do just let in anyone,” Jinwoo agreed. “They let in  _ you _ , after all.” 

He didn't wait around to listen to Jisu's stammered responses. He kept walking toward the doors, still holding on tightly to Myungjun's hand. Bin and Dongmin rushed after him; Bin looked pleased at Jinwoo's defiance, and told him as much once they were outside.

“You were so  _ mean! _ That's awesome, Jinwoo! God, he deserved it, didn't he, Myungjun?” He turned his beaming face on the young pianist, who bit at his bottom lip in worry.

“Maybe not,” Myungjun muttered. “B-Because maybe he was right. Maybe I am—”

“I refuse to believe that,” Jinwoo said. He smiled softly, then reached his free hand up to fix Myungjun's hair. “I'm Jinwoo, by the way. I don't think we've met.”

Myungjun's face was red, and Dongmin could tell he was getting flustered once more. “A-Are you Bin's friend?”

Jinwoo nodded. “I was sitting with Bin and Dongmin, and you did well enough for the first bit. I play the drums, you know, and one time I was playing for this band that needed an extra drummer. I practiced and practiced and practiced. I was perfect the day of our performance. And then, suddenly, I forgot all of their songs. I screwed them up, and I never wanted to show my face anywhere  _ near _ that bar, or people in general.”

Myungjun looked intrigued by the story. It was similar enough to his own mishap, after all, and he seemed to be in need of comforting. “What happened next?” he asked.

“I kept playing,” Jinwoo responded. “And I decided that sometimes this sort of thing happens. After all, we're all human. We all mess up sometimes.” He glanced back at Dongmin and Bin and then smiled again. “Would we all like to go grab some food? I'll pay. I'm a little hungry, and I'm not in the mood to stick around this concert hall, anyway.”

Bin looked at Dongmin; with all eyes on him, hungry and awaiting his response, Dongmin decided he couldn't very well reject the offer, so he nodded. Jinwoo cheered and pointed down to where his car had been parked. “I'm going to take Myungjun, if that's all right. I still want to talk to him a little bit more. Bin, you can ride with Dongmin, okay? Direct him to that good ramen place right near our school.”

Dongmin didn't want to protest. Myungjun's face brightened with Jinwoo's instructions, and he followed his new friend along with absolutely no hassle. Besides, Jinwoo seemed to know what he was talking about, and he seemed to be making Myungjun feel infinitely better about it all.

That just left, though, Bin by his side, watching the two walk off.

“They like each other,” Bin suddenly pointed out, once Myungjun and Jinwoo were out of earshot.

Dongmin snorted. “Obviously,” he said.

“Which is funny,” Bin continued, “because Myungjun liked  _ me _ just a few days ago.”

“Really?” Dongmin asked, glancing over at Bin with wide eyes. “He liked you?” When Bin nodded, Dongmin continued, “How does he even  _ know _ you, though?” 

Bin seemed surprised that Dongmin wasn't aware of their relationship. He stammered out a quick response of, “H-He volunteers — wait, do you really not know? I thought you two were super close. I thought he would tell you everything! He always talks about you as if you're some sort of brotherly figure in his life.”

The thought of Myungjun thinking so highly of him warmed Dongmin's heart, but he decided now was not the time to get mushy over such things. He shrugged his shoulders. “We're close, but I haven't heard a word about you until today, really.”

“Oh.” Bin still looked confused, but he didn't keep rehashing the same questions. Instead, he answered Dongmin's original question. “He came by the music school I work at a few days after we met. He asked if there were any job openings, and I told him there weren't. We can hardly afford to pay our current piano teacher, anyway, let alone take on someone else. And I thought that would be it, but he asked if there were any volunteer opportunities, instead, and so he's been helping us out ever since then.” Bin smiled. “He's very sweet. He helps out in the piano room. He's taken over a few classes when the other teacher calls out sick or has a day off. I guess he just hadn't met Jinwoo yet, since Jinwoo comes at different times, but they look cute together. Maybe it's the height,” he added with a slight giggle.

All of what Bin said made Dongmin pause. Myungjun had asked for a new job? He hadn't needed work; his family was wealthy enough that he could live off their money, and the money he made from various musical ventures at different events. Besides, both Dongmin and Myungjun's mother barred him from having a job. It would hinder his lessons and cause his attentions to become divided. Myungjun had agreed, too, if not a bit reluctantly, but why was he trying to get a job at Bin's school?

“Could...could it be because he liked you?” Dongmin asked, cocking his head slightly as he stared at Bin. “Maybe he just wanted to be near you.”

“He really enjoys the work, though! He likes teaching classes. He's great with kids, Dongmin, you should come watch him one day. All of the students love him.” Bin smiled fondly and gestured around at the small parking deck. “We're going to be late, though, if we stand around here and talk. Which of these is your car?”

Dongmin showed him, and he drove in relative silence. He had hoped that Myungjun would focus solely on his piano lessons, but now that he knew of Myungjun's secret “job” elsewhere, he was reminded of how difficult Myungjun had become. He always showed up late, or else canceled lessons, or, if he  _ did _ manage to come on time, he hardly paid any attention. Dongmin had been pushing him harder as a sort of punishment, making him stay late and overnight in order to prepare himself for the performance he had.

Some good it did, though, if Myungjun was already giving it all up in order to help out at the school, and in order to ogle at Jinwoo a little bit more. Dongmin's hands tightened at the wheel and he pursed his lips.

Bin seemed to notice. “Are you alright?” he asked cautiously.

“Fine,” Dongmin replied, but he couldn't stay silent for too long. “Myungjun never told me because he had already promised he wouldn't take up any jobs like this. It divides his attention and focus, and as you saw from the performance earlier, he's apt to make  _ many _ mistakes now that his mind is on something else.”

He was met with silence, and so he nervously glanced over at Bin, who stared back at him, his expression unreadable. “Am I right?” Dongmin questioned. 

“Eh.” Bin shrugged his shoulders. “Myungjun is a grown man. I think he can make his own decisions. He's told me before he doesn't really enjoy his lessons, and he hates being up on stage.”

Dongmin shook his head. “He'll learn,” he said. “He'll become passionate. Once he makes it big, he'll  _ want _ to be on stage. He just keeps pushing those dreams aside, though.”

“I don't think that's it at all.” Bin was still staring curiously at Dongmin. “Why do you care so much, though? Why do you push him so hard into something he doesn't want to do?” He didn't give Dongmin a chance to answer before continuing, “I kept hearing your name. People kept whispering it before Myungjun performed. And in the lobby, a few people were mentioning it again. And that jackass who insulted Jinwoo — Dongmin, you're famous in the piano world, aren't you?”

Dongmin didn't really want to give that a response. He had assumed he could hide it, get away with being famous around Bin and Jinwoo, but he supposed he couldn't really keep that a secret if his entire world revolved around pianos. People who didn't know were bound to discover the truth after some period of time. It was inevitable.

His non-answer gave Bin the confirmation he needed. “So you're projecting your fame, all your wants and desires, onto Myungjun, aren't you? You want him to be famous because  _ you _ are famous. In turn, wouldn't that increase your own fame, then? Raising some other piano prodigy would put you in more spotlight.”

Dongmin bit down on his bottom lip and still made no effort to respond. He wanted to deny that as being true, and yet he found that he couldn't. When he glanced at Bin one last time, Bin was smiling again.

“But I really don't care right now. I'm just hungry. Too much thinking, it seems, and I shouldn't do all of that thinking on an empty stomach. You should drive faster, Dongmin, there's a noodle bowl with my name on it awaiting us!”

Bin's intuitive statements and knowing gaze made Dongmin wary, but it also made him warm inside, slightly flustered. Maybe it was an attack on his character, but Bin didn't seem to judge him harshly for it. Bin seemed to understand his mindset; Bin seemed friendly regardless of it all.

And so Dongmin sped up, much to Bin's enjoyment, and he couldn't help but smile as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost done with the old chapters - come chapter seven and you guys will be seeing NEW stuff. hang in there.

**A painter paints pictures on canvas.**

**But[music](https://youtu.be/U3u4pQ4WKOk)ians paint their pictures **

**on silence.**

Myungjun didn't answer any of his texts or return any of Dongmin's calls.

It was commonplace for Myungjun to now show late to his practices, or to just not show at all, but he usually had some sort of excuse prepared; he had errands to run, he wasn't feeling well, he had to see a doctor for something or other. But he always picked up his phone, at least, and informed Dongmin of what was going on.

Now, suddenly, the second day in a row, he was absolutely silent, and Dongmin found himself growing worried for the safety and well-being of his best friend.

He wondered if the failed recital had ruined Myungjun's spirit. He wouldn't be shocked; after all, Myungjun had felt humiliated, and even Jinwoo's support didn't seem to be enough to lift him out of his self-pity. His last few practices had been of sub-par quality, because clearly Myungjun wasn't in the mood to play the piano any longer.

His mother had called, too, during one of the practices. She hadn't even called Myungjun's phone. She had called Dongmin, and Dongmin stared at the number in confusion as Myungjun completed a song he had been working on.

He looked over curiously at Dongmin. “Who is it?” he asked.

Dongmin grimaced and didn't respond. He simply held up a finger, quieting Myungjun, and scurried off into the next room over, placing the phone to his ear quickly to answer it.

“Hello?”

Instantly, Myungjun's mother dived right into her reason for calling without returning Dongmin's greeting. “I heard what happened. My son messed up on stage, didn't he? And he didn't even  _ try _ to fix his mistakes, he just ran off and allowed confusion to take over the entire concert hall. Isn't that correct?”

Dongmin wasn't quite sure how to reply, and so he gave a small hum, gripping tightly onto the phone. Myungjun's mother seemed to take that as a sign or gesture to continue her tirade. “I have faith in you, Dongmin, to train him well, but I have no faith in him to hold onto any of your training. He's...” She sighed loudly. “He's not very bright. Nothing like his older brother. He's lazy and he doesn't commit. I had been hoping if he trained with a brilliant pianist such as yourself, then he might get somewhere, but...” She trailed off and sighed again. “Dongmin, increase the amount of lessons he must take, alright? I'll cover the costs, but I want him to actually succeed at something in his life. Despite how...untalented he is, he is still my son, and I need him to make a name for himself, just as you have.”

Dongmin felt his stomach churn from the woman's words. “He's already working hard,” he weakly defended his friend. “I don't want to push him, not after-”

“He needs to be pushed. That's just how life is. Work with him seven hours a day instead of three.”

“Seven hours-?”

“And try to make it Monday through Saturday, instead of just three times a week.”

Dongmin's eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head, although he knew that Myungjun's mother couldn't see his motions. “Ma'am, I'm sorry, but that's...not even the most talented pianists practice that often. He needs breaks-”

She scoffed, however, and said, “He doesn't do anything else, so I think he can handle this. I know he's at your practice right now, so just lengthen the time he remains.” She fell silent for a second, then murmured, “Once he's famous, famous and wealthy and well-known, he'll thank me.”

She hung up shortly afterwards, and Dongmin was left alone in his room, gnawing at his bottom lip and trying to think of how to best tell Myungjun of his new practice hours. 

It would be difficult when Myungjun was already giving up on piano, when he was lethargic and upset and nervous to ever try again. But, still, Dongmin relied on Myungjun's family funds sometimes; it was an impressive amount of money that he was given at the end of every month, and he wasn't willing to relinquish it.

Not only that, but he  _ knew _ Myungjun was talented, and he knew the boy had passion inside of him somewhere, if only he would grasp a hold of it. He could mold Myungjun into something great and magnificent if Myungjun allowed it to happen. Perhaps, then, it wouldn't be all that bad.

Or so he thought for a couple of minutes before returning back into the practice room and informing Myungjun of what his mother had said, omitting the less-than-kind portions.

Myungjun looked distraught. “ _ Seven _ hours?” he asked, and he moved his hands from the keys, ceasing his warmups. “Is she punishing me because I screwed up on stage?”

“It's...not a punishment,” Dongmin offered, sitting back down on his own seat, next to Myungjun's bench. “I think she's just concerned that I might not be teaching you enough in the short time we have together.”

“It's not  _ you _ she's concerned about,” Myungjun fussed, and he hit a random key with his hand, letting the short burst of sound travel through the room. “She adores you, Dongmin. She'd trade us in an instant, if she could. You're the son she  _ wants _ to have. You're like my brother, and I'm like the...the disappointing cousin of the family.”

Dongmin winced. “That's not true at all,” he lied, though he knew Myungjun's words were right. His mother could be quite the horrid person. She didn't seem to appreciate Myungjun much at all, despite how often Myungjun worked to make her pleased.

In response, Myungjun slammed another key out of frustration. He blinked rapidly, too, and finally stood from his seat, the bench scraping across the wooden floors. “I need a break,” he said.

“You haven't been here that long-”

“And, apparently, I'll be here for five more hours, so I deserve a damn break!” Myungjun exclaimed. His chin was quivering as he grabbed his supplies, stuffing them back into his back and closing the piano lid. “And while I'm gone, you should go change your family name to  _ Kim _ . Switch my name out with yours. That seems to be the best option at this point.”

Dongmin wasn't given a chance to offer a retort. Myungjun disappeared quickly, quietly, and Dongmin couldn't very well blame him for being upset.

That was the last they had spoken to each other for two days, and Dongmin was concerned. Above all else, he knew Myungjun was a friend. He tried to remind himself of Bin's words, to remember that Myungjun was an adult and capable of making all of his own decisions. He didn't need someone always telling him what to do and where to be.

Maybe he just wanted freedom.

Still, Dongmin's conscience wouldn't allow him to just freely take money from Myungjun's mother without actually performing any sort of job. He was supposed to train Myungjun; that was what he was paid for. It was the equivalent of collecting a paycheck after not having showed for work. Dongmin liked to think he was honest and trustworthy, and people who were honest and trustworthy would never lie in such a manner.

So after calling and receiving no answer from Myungjun, he made the decision to travel himself to Myungjun's apartment, to figure out exactly what was going on.

But Myungjun wasn't home; or, if he was, he wasn't answering his door. Dongmin knocked and waited, knocked again and waited some more, and yet he was left milling about outside, trying to determine where it was, exactly, that Myungjun had gone off to.

On his third and final knock, the neighbor's door opened, and a young man peered out at Dongmin, wide eyes blinking over at him curiously. “Hi!” the boy exclaimed.

Dongmin nodded politely.

“Are you looking for Myungjun?” the boy asked again, and Dongmin still nodded. “He went out a few hours ago. I saw him going when I was coming home from the store. He had, um, his music books with him, a big stack of them.”

“Oh,” Dongmin said, a little surprised. If he was carrying music books with him, why didn't he show up at practice? “And you're not sure where he went?” he asked.

The boy shrugged. “He said something about school, but I thought he already graduated. Are you his music teacher? I've seen you come by before. I'm studying the piano, too, and-”

“I'd love to talk, really, but I have to find Myungjun,” Dongmin said, apologetically. He offered the boy a small wave, and, fortunately, the boy didn't seem to take Dongmin's hastiness to heart. 

“Oh, okay! Maybe you can come back around one day and see if my technique is good? I want to be trained, too, by a professional. Myungjun's helped me a lot, and he's promised he'll be my teacher when he gets good enough, but you can help, too!” The boy bowed lightly. “I'm Sanha, and if you come by again,  _ please _ come to my apartment and listen, okay?”

He was sweet and charming, but Dongmin wasn't really in the mood to engage in small talk about pianos. He was pretty sure he knew where Myungjun had gone off to, and he was quite determined to deliver a scolding to his student. 

After bidding Sanha a farewell, he hurried back down the street, driving around and trying to remember just where the school was.

Although he inserted it into his GPS, he found it in the end. It was a small building, a little dingy, and quite obviously not rolling in funding. It didn't seem like the sort of place a talented, award-winning musician would choose to visit, and yet Dongmin was slipping inside the squeaky doors and glancing down the worn hallways.

A young man was at the receptionist desk, regarding Dongmin with interest. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Dongmin glanced over at him and smiled kindly before stepping forward and clearing his throat. “I believe you can,” he responded, glancing down at the name on the desk: Park Minhyuk. “Um, Mr. Park, I was wondering if a Kim Myungjun had come by? He's a friend of mine, and he hasn't been answering his phone so I was worried something might have happened, but then I thought he might-”

“He's here,” Minhyuk interrupted Dongmin's mindless rambling and gestured down the hallway. “He's subbing right now. One of our teachers stopped showing up, so Bin asked Myungjun to come in. You can go see him, if you want. All the way down, a door on the left – you'll probably hear them before you see them.”

He was helpful, if not a bit rude, and Dongmin thanked him before heading on down the hallway as instructed. He peeked through a few of the rooms, most of them dark, but in one or two he could spot students here and there learning various instruments. They all seemed cute, and the teachers looked interested in what they were doing.

He stopped when he heard a familiar noise, a sound of beautiful piano notes from behind one of the closed rooms.  _ Clair de lune _ , a piece Myungjun had been practicing. He had fallen back on that particular composition, claiming it was easier and prettier and something he truly enjoyed, and while Dongmin hadn't been entirely pleased with Myungjun's reluctance to try anything more challenging, he had accepted it, nonetheless.

It  _ was _ pretty, and, somehow, it sounded prettier  _ here _ , in the run-down school building with weeds around the front and floor tiles coming undone and music muffled behind a closed door. It sounded passionate and exciting.

It sounded as if Myungjun composed it himself, loved it and cherished it as if it was his own, not like he was being forced by Dongmin to play the piece for seven hours straight.

And, when Dongmin peeked inside, he could see Myungjun, surrounded by several children as he showed them which keys he was hitting and how to properly position his body at the piano. Myungjun was smiling,  _ grinning _ , and as he finished the song, the children burst into applause and laughter, all of them begging for their own chance to play.

Myungjun, too, laughed, and he stood from his spot, inviting first a young girl to take a seat and try her hand.

As Dongmin watched, he expected something  _ greater _ from the girl. He expected the notes to sound lovely; after all, if Myungjun was helping to train them, they must be brilliantly skilled pianists.

But her notes were flat and her fingers hit the wrong keys and she slouched as she played. Myungjun seemed to be instructing her on her posture, but otherwise, he never once told her it was all bad. He encouraged her, clapped for her, and ruffled her tiny mop of hair when she gave up.

It wasn't at all like how Myungjun  _ should _ teach, and Dongmin felt a little frustrated at his friend's lackluster attitude toward skill and technique. He had half a mind to enter the room, to perhaps show the children just how a  _ good _ pianist should play an instrument, but before he could do anything, he heard someone speak behind him.

“He's great with the kids, isn't he?”

Dongmin spun around, eyes wide with shock. Bin stood right over his shoulder, smiling widely as he pointed over at the door. “Myungjun, I mean. Look at him! It's like he's in his element, you know.”

It seemed that way, maybe, but as Dongmin drew back from the door, stepping aside so Myungjun couldn't spot him, he shook his head. “I don't think he's doing that great,” he admitted.

Bin didn't look upset. He instead appeared to be interested, the smile never once leaving his face. “Why's that?” he asked, leaning up against the far wall and staring at Dongmin.

“Isn't it obvious?” Dongmin questioned. “He's not teaching them properly. They're hitting the wrong keys, they're not sitting as they ought to, they're changing up the notes and treating it all as if it was a joke.”

“Really?” Bin raised his eyebrows. “I don't see that at all.”

Dongmin didn't know how Bin could bypass such an error in teaching. Bin was extremely talented, and seemed to help run the school with all he had, but yet he was allowing Myungjun to not show the children the proper skill they needed to achieve fame.

“Trust me, they're never going to get  _ anywhere _ if Myungjun doesn't actually teach them as he should.”

Bin continued to stare at Dongmin, his expression unreadable, just as it had been days ago in Dongmin's car. Dongmin shuffled uncomfortably in the silence, wondering if  _ he _ was wrong, wondering  _ why _ he would be wrong.

Finally, Bin spoke. “I don't think it's necessary to make every single person a famous pianist. Some are cut out for it. Some aren't.” Bin picked himself up off the wall and grinned. “Walk with me, Dongmin?”

It was a request, one that Dongmin could very well ignore, and yet he was drawn by Bin's friendliness, his kindness, his absolute beauty and perfection. He couldn't help but nod his head and follow along with Bin, side by side, as they traversed slowly down the short hallway, the sounds of missed piano notes still heard in the distance.

“Most of these kids come from bad home lives,” Bin suddenly stated, glancing into a few of the other rooms. “Broken homes. Poor families. Cared for in foster homes, or orphanages, sometimes. Regardless, most of them simply can't afford to pay for a music teacher. So we don't make them pay much, if anything, when they come here. We  _ want _ children to learn music. We want them to develop this necessary skill in their lives, even if they suck at it. Music helps in other areas. Music gives them an escape. And having a music teacher who loves them regardless of  _ skill _ can mean the world to them.” Bin's eyes were soft as he gazed into one empty classroom, a cello off to a corner in the dark and music notes still written up on a chalkboard. “These are children who have nothing, Dongmin, and music gives them  _ something _ .”

Dongmin had never experienced anything similar to what Bin was describing. Dongmin's life growing up had been lovely and perfect. He learned the piano because he thought it was beautiful; he developed the skills and techniques at a young age, and he never once considered straying from the rules. He was supported and challenged and encouraged. He had family and friends who cared for him, and he never felt as if anything was missing from his life.

He hadn't thought of music as something to hold onto desperately for a semblance of normalcy. He had only thought of music as something that needed to be studied and taught and learned after hours and hours of hard work and practice. He considered it worthless if it wasn't  _ perfect _ , and now he felt as if Bin was challenging all of his views on the matter.

And Bin did it all with sparkling eyes and a cheery tone to his voice.

Dongmin couldn't be mad, nor could he refute Bin's words.

“I told Myungjun, when he started volunteering here, that he needn't worry about making the next Mozart out of one of them. He shouldn't make another Lee Dongmin.” Bin laughed. “Not that you aren't a wonderful person, but there's no reason to hound  _ skill _ and  _ technique _ into these young children, is there? We know they might not even continue with instruments once their lives are back on track, but, for now, we've given them support and a hobby, something to take them away from whatever nightmare they might be living through at the moment.” Bin glanced over at Dongmin again. “Does that make sense?”

Dongmin slowly nodded his head. He understood perfectly fine, though it made no sense to him why Myungjun would choose  _ those _ students to work with. Myungjun could mold possibly anyone into a fine pianist, and while people might be less willing to ask for his help after his recital fiasco, he was still talented enough to take on his own young students.

Instead, though, he worked with kids who were just lonely and wanted a chance to feel like they belong  _ somewhere _ .

His confusion must have been evident, because Bin stopped walking and sighed. “Myungjun feels like one of those kids sometimes.”

Dongmin blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I think he's wealthy, if he can afford to pay  _ you _ to be his teacher, but he's...lonely. And lost. And the piano is his getaway. Recitals, though, and fame...he strays away from them. He hates his lessons and he hates rigid rules and he hates  _ playing _ , he told me, but he loves playing with  _ them _ . With the kids. And that's common for many children who aren't exactly in a great place.” Bin seemed concerned, just as concerned as Dongmin always felt for Myungjun, and he asked, “I know you're projecting onto him, but why  _ him _ , Dongmin? Why not some other student who would probably beg to be trained under your name. What makes Myungjun your weird experimental project?”

When Dongmin didn't answer, Bin smiled again, not at all unnerved by the lack of response, and he suddenly plastered himself up against Dongmin's side. “Let's go eat lunch. I'll pay.”

“But I-”

“Myungjun will be busy for another hour, so we have time. My treat.”

Dongmin thought of Myungjun's mother, of the expectations she had for her son, of Dongmin's  _ own _ expectations for what Myungjun should be doing.

And then he thought of food and friends and laughter with a man who was offering it all to him without expecting anything to change in Dongmin's life or career. He thought of sitting with someone who, for some reason, chose not to judge him a single bit, and Dongmin couldn't help but smile once again.

“Sure,” he agreed, deciding that maybe Myungjun would be just fine left alone on his own, and maybe Dongmin would  _ kill _ to see Bin grin like that again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we continue - and beyond chapter six, too!

**If[music](https://youtu.be/93GHMbV1nM0) be the food of love, play on,**

**Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,  
**

**The appetite may sicken, and so die.**

One lunch had somehow turned into two lunches.

And two lunches had turned into five lunches.

And, soon enough, Dongmin was eating lunch with Bin every single afternoon.

The old piano teacher had quit, leaving Myungjun to easily and readily take over the position. Myungjun was  _ ecstatic _ about his new job. He called Dongmin the same night Bin offered it to him, excitedly talking about all the plans he held for the children, all the ideas he could finally bring to light. 

“He didn't listen when I told him his mother would be pissed,” Dongmin said to Bin, a few days later over their lunch. “And I don't think  _ he's _ going to tell her, so she'll be pissed at me, probably, for not reining Myungjun in more, for not forcing him to practice and work on pieces for his concerts.”

Bin nodded his head, though he didn't understand the situation. Dongmin  _ knew _ he didn't understand, for it hadn't been fully explained to him. He had picked up pieces here and there, learning  _ why _ Myungjun had worked as a student underneath Dongmin, but still not completely grasping the concept.

It was fine that way, however, because even Dongmin didn't understand it all. Dongmin didn't know why  _ he _ was so adamant that Myungjun remain his student. He wanted to project his ideals onto someone, sure, but there was a plethora of other students that begged Dongmin to preside over their piano lessons, students who weren't as experimental and risky as Myungjun.

At first, Dongmin had assumed that training a student who hated the rules would show his teaching abilities to the world. If he could mold even  _ Myungjun _ into shape, then he could prove to his colleagues that he could accomplish anything.

But the more he spoke to Bin, the more he thought that might not be the case.

“You don't seem overly bothered with Myungjun refusing to show up to his lessons,” Bin pointed out, reaching over and grabbing some of Dongmin's meat off his plate.

They ate at Bin's place, a sudden decision made by Bin himself; Bin claimed he was tired of take-out food and wanted to cook something, for once, and Dongmin felt his heart  _ pitter-patter _ in his chest as he imagined eating inside Bin's home, sharing food and laughter and flirty gazes with a privacy they had never before received. He agreed instantly, but now he wondered if it was all just a scheme for Bin to steal more of his food with the excuse of  _ well I cooked it _ .

Because that had been his excuse the past four times he ate off Dongmin's plate.

“I'm bothered by that just as much as I'm bothered with you stealing my food,” Dongmin complained, and when Bin opened his mouth, Dongmin snapped, “And I  _ know _ you cooked it, but you gave it to  _ me _ .”

Bin huffed and leaned back, though he still ate the meat he had stolen. “So you  _ are _ bothered with Myungjun?”

“A little bit.”

“Why?”

Dongmin shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. I mean, he's my student, and when he signed the forms and agreed to practice, it was with the understanding that he wouldn't allow anything else in life to come before the piano.”

“That's ridiculous.” 

“Excuse me?” Dongmin looked up at his new friend, who stared back at Dongmin with a smirk on his face. “How is it ridiculous to request that a  _ student _ of mine focus solely on what he ought?”

Bin set his chopsticks down on his bowl and leaned forward. “I love the violin, Dongmin. I love it  _ so _ much. I practiced hard, too, when I was younger, in order to play the violin. I still play it, but I learned something once I was no longer in high school; I don't need to make the violin the forefront of my life. There's more important things.”

Bin had never seemed like someone who held music up as the  _ most _ important thing, as Dongmin did, and Dongmin found it admirable. He found it interesting, too, intriguing, because why would someone as talented and as wonderful as Bin really not make a career out of his violin? His school as definitely a noble cause, but, as Dongmin looked around at Bin's small apartment, it wasn't exactly a logical cause. It offered hardly any money and, from Dongmin's understanding, Bin lived paycheck to paycheck.

And yet he did it all so cheerfully.

He gave up his own violin talents in order to help children, and he gave up having a comfortable lifestyle in order to better his school.

It was stupid. Bin was an idiot. And, yet, Dongmin couldn't help but fall for him, marveling at his selflessness and kindness.

“Nothing is more important to me, though,” Dongmin said, interrupting his own thoughts in favor of speaking his mind. “Seriously, Bin, I know for some people, like yourself and Myungjun, maybe there  _ are _ more important things, but I've yet to find my happiness in anything other than the piano.”

“You don't seem that happy whenever we discuss the piano,” Bin muttered. When Dongmin stared at him in shock, the younger boy continued, “I mean, we really only ever talk about Myungjun and  _ his _ piano skills. I know  _ Myungjun _ hates his piano lessons and playing up on stage for people, and I know you hate having to deal with his flightiness, but that's all I ever hear when it comes to how you feel about the piano. We never really talk about  _ you _ .”

And they hadn't. Dongmin blinked, realizing that Bin had only ever heard of Dongmin's complaints. Dongmin never opened himself up and told Bin more about  _ himself _ , more about why he liked the piano or why he wanted Myungjun to like the piano. Dongmin never discussed why he only wanted certain compositions to be played or why the concerts meant so much to him.

“I...” Dongmin started, but then found that the words were more difficult to gather in his mind than he assumed they would be. How was he to explain more about himself to Bin when  _ he _ didn't even know enough about himself?

He tried again. “I started, um, I started the piano when I was very young, and it's...it's been an escape for me. It's been fun. And I...I like compositions from musicians, and it's weird when people stray from that, and so when Myungjun learned how to play, all he wanted to do was add his own twist to these songs, and that's not how the source material is. It's not right.”

Bin hummed. “Why's it not right?” he asked.

“Because...because it isn't.” Dongmin wasn't sure why Bin couldn't just read his mind and instantly understand exactly what he thought. Dongmin wished, if Bin  _ could _ read minds, then Bin would tell him what his mind was thinking.

Because Dongmin had no idea, even as he spoke his ideals and beliefs.

“So according to you, straying from the original composition is bad. A big no-no. An error, of sorts.” Bin nodded his head, and despite how stupid it sounded coming from someone else's mouth, Bin didn't seem to mind. He smiled, instead, and nodded his head for Dongmin to continue. “So you play on stage?”

Dongmin answered, “Yes. Um, I do.  _ Did _ , because most of my time now is dedicated to making  _ Myungjun _ play on stage, which...which we both know how well that's worked out.” He hummed thoughtfully and picked at his meal. “Though, since Myungjun is now working at your school and refusing to actually come to practice, I suppose I might be able to play for just myself now.”

“Did you really stop playing just so Myungjun could play?” Bin suddenly asked. All of his attention was focused solely on Dongmin. He looked interested; he wasn't just asking questions to kill time. Everything seemed to have a purpose to Bin, seemed to be of importance, and Dongmin had not felt so valued in such a long time.

He was relieved, too, that Bin never once appeared to judge him for any of his choices or decisions. Bin accepted things and moved on with the conversation. It was a refreshing change of pace, and Dongmin couldn't help the easy smile that fell onto his lips. 

“His mother pays a large sum of money for his lessons,” Dongmin replied. “She made me change his practice times, too, and now she's...she's going to pay a lot more if I can ever get Myungjun to agree to come back and begin lessons once more.”

Which he knew wouldn't happen. Not when Myungjun was so happy and cheerful and comfortable in his new position as a teacher.

“How often does Myungjun practice?”

“He  _ had _ been practicing a few times a week, for a handful of hours each time he came in,” Dongmin said. “But his mother asked me to make it five days a week, for seven hours each day.”

Bin snorted. “Is she serious?  _ Seven _ hours, really? Does she think Myungjun is Superman, or something?”

It sounded silly when Dongmin mentioned it, and he definitely agreed. He had tried to explain to Myungjun's mother that seven hours a day was too long. Musicians hardly practiced for such an extended period of time.  _ Dongmin _ had never practiced that long, and he absolutely adored the piano. It just wasn't feasible, however, and all she managed to do was draw Myungjun further away from  _ her _ hopes and dreams.

“I've told her. She thinks it's possible.” Dongmin finished his meal and sat back in his chair. “I should tell her that Myungjun is quitting. She'll be mad, though, if I tell her, and she'll remind me again and again that I failed him.”

Dongmin's plans hadn't worked. He was supposed to turn Myungjun famous. He was supposed to turn Myungjun rich. He was, according to Myungjun's mother, supposed to make his friend  _ worthwhile _ .

But he felt as if Myungjun was worthwhile all along. The boy was charming and sweet. He was talented and smart. He was Dongmin's best friend, though Dongmin didn't deserve him at all, and there was really no reason to change him.

Before Bin could say anything, Dongmin murmured, “Even if I have failed him, and if I failed her, and if I failed  _ myself _ , I think it was necessary. After all,” he glanced up at Bin and smiled. “I think I've gained some sort of reward out of this.”

For the first time since they had met, Bin looked flustered.

Dongmin liked him.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

Bin was just as carefree as Myungjun, if not more so.

He didn't mind what people thought of him. He didn't mind people whispering as he played pop songs on his violin. He didn't mind people pointing as he waved donation cans in the air to earn money for his school.

He didn't mind Dongmin sticking by his side through it all, either, passing over drinks when it became too hot or fanning him if he began to sweat too much.

“Shouldn't you be practicing?” Bin had finally asked at one point, setting down the large sign he had designed.

( _ PLEASE SUPPORT MUSICALLY-GIFTED CHILDREN! _ it read in sparkly letters with pictures of cheerful students plastered around the words – Bin finished it the night before, apparently, and he had glitter in his hair to prove it.)

“Practicing what?” Dongmin reached into the lunchbox he had brought, pulling out another bottle of chocolate milk and tossing it to Bin.

Bin drank nearly half the bottle before pulling back and breathing out, “Your concert.”

Dongmin snorted. “Myungjun's the one who's signed up for the next concert,” he corrected. 

“Yeah? And he's clearly not going to be doing it. He hasn't been to your place for a lesson in a few weeks. He's at the school practically every single day now.” Bin offered some of his drink to Dongmin, who shook his head politely. “You didn't have to come, regardless of whatever Myungjun is doing. You could take a day off, you know, go explore town or find yourself a pretty girlfriend.”

“I don't want a pretty girlfriend,” Dongmin mumbled.

“An ugly one, then.”

Dongmin remained silent for a few seconds, kicking at a small rock near his feet, then responded, “I don't want a girlfriend.”

Bin had no reply for him, but when Dongmin glanced over, the younger boy was smiling to himself, eyes turned down at the ground and cheeks slightly flushed.

Dongmin wasn't an idiot. It was clear that Dongmin's lack of interest in finding a girlfriend made Bin pleased, in some way or another. Dongmin  _ hoped _ that maybe Bin held feelings for him, somewhere deep inside his heart, but their relationship was still relatively new. He would bide his time, wait patiently for Bin to admit something, and, in the meantime, Dongmin's own feelings would have the chance to flourish and grow.

“Well,” Bin said, clearing his throat and returning Dongmin's gaze. “Since you don't have a girlfriend, perhaps you should practice the piano for a concert. Can't you take Myungjun's position?”

It was an odd change in conversation, but definitely not an unwelcome one. Dongmin was, honestly, a little awkward in the dating field. He was quite aware of it, and so he never made too much of an effort to appeal himself to men he thought were attractive. He would accept if they came to  _ him _ , first, but his confidence was only strong where his talents lay – piano playing. 

He would wait for someone (Bin, he hoped) to ask him out, but for the time being, he would only focus on the piano.

“You want me to play in a concert?” he asked.

Bin nodded his head in enthusiasm. “Yeah! I mean, it would be better for the venue, I think, if a super famous pianist was there playing for everyone. And you also wouldn't have to withdraw Myungjun's name – you could just maybe replace it with your own. That's how these things work, don't they?”

They didn't, not really, but Dongmin didn't care to try and dispute it. Besides, he knew the man who had put the concert together. It wouldn't be too difficult to contact him and ask if he could switch around the names. He knew it would draw more attention with a headliner, after all, and he could very well force himself back into the spotlight by performing at the concert.

He could also comfort himself after losing a valuable, important student. It would be helpful, and it would give him something to do in his spare time.

(Though he found that he really enjoyed following Bin around everywhere.)

“I might be able to pull a few strings,” Dongmin muttered, and he definitely didn't miss the small grin that fell across Bin's expression. “And it  _ would _ give me something to do. Though,” he added with a small snort, “the moment I put my name in instead of Myungjun's, Myungjun's mother will  _ really _ know, finally, about her son quitting, and I'll never hear the end of it from that woman.”

“Well, that will be Myungjun's problem, not yours,” Bin pointed out. “He has to face her at some point or another. He has to cut off contact with her. He's been gaining some confidence, you know, telling me that one day he  _ will _ explain everything to her.”

“That's good,” Dongmin commented. He smiled gently, remembering his conversation with Myungjun just the other day, noticing how happy his friend was away from his lessons and concerts. “He deserves a better life than the one I've been giving him.” With a groan, Dongmin stretched his arms out in front of him. “I thought I'd be more disappointed with losing my only student. All I wanted was to train him properly, to mold him into shape. I wanted him to prove what  _ I _ long to prove, that music is fine if played by the exact notes, the way the composers intended for it to be played. I thought he could become a good and serious pianist. The sort that goes to cocktail parties and schmoozes with other prominent pianists from across the world. And now that I know I couldn't do that, I...I don't feel like a failure. Maybe I just need a new student, though. Myungjun has a neighbor who is interested in the piano.”

Bin laughed beside him and nudged his shoulder. “You're terrible,” he commented. “Let's not corrupt anymore minds.”

“Hey, it's not  _ corruption _ . I'm teaching them.”

“Sure.” Bin finished off his chocolate milk and handed the empty bottle to Dongmin, who discarded it into his backpack. “You should go home and practice, now that you've confirmed you're taking Myungjun's spot. You need to play a masterpiece, something beautiful and perfect.”

“I was just going to play what Myungjun was practicing,” Dongmin said, standing up from his seat. Bin followed suit, still smiling widely. “Beethoven's  Sonata Pathétique. It's pretty, it really is, but Myungjun always got bored of that one after ten minutes of playing it.”

Bin sighed and grabbed his sloppy signage again. “I understand Myungjun,” he murmured. “Long pieces bore me to death. But I'd come see it if  _ you _ played it!” He laughed suddenly and teased, “I'd much rather you play something quicker, something more interesting. Have you heard of  _ 4'33” _ ?” 

Dongmin raised his eyebrows at Bin, then shook his head slowly. “I...have not,” he responded, confused. He thought he knew of all the piano compositions played at concerts, but the title Bin brought up was a new one. “Who composed it?”

“No clue!” Bin exclaimed, excited. “But it's four minutes and thirty-three seconds of absolute silence! It's short, to the point, and it'd be super cool to hear, anyway, at some boring piano concert!”

His laughter made Dongmin aware that it was a joke. A bad joke, albeit still a joke. “Very funny, Bin,” Dongmin responded dryly as his friend's laughter quieted down to a charming giggle. “But I'd much rather show off my actual talent, if I'm taking over for Myungjun, and I'd expect you to sit down and listen to all twenty minutes of my Beethoven skills.”

“Ah, damn,” Bin cursed, lighthearted. “Look what I've gotten myself into.”

Dongmin returned Bin's smile before taking his leave. Still, as he heard Bin shouting at random people passing by on the street to donate to his cause, he couldn't help but wonder if  _ he _ had gotten himself into something.

Whatever it was, he hoped Bin would stay by his side through it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now you guys finally get a nEW chapter

**[Music](https://youtu.be/SrcOcKYQX3c), **

**once admitted to the soul,**

**becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies.**

Dongmin stared at the piano in front of him and took a deep breath.

He often played for fun. In between his sessions with Myungjun, Dongmin had been practicing himself to ensure he wouldn’t fall behind in the musical world. Each and every time he played the piano, it felt like a fantastical dream. He marvelled at how hitting a certain combination of keys could create such a beautiful noise, and he often wondered how others did not feel the same as he did.

He often wondered how Myungjun had little regard for the music Dongmin adored.

“Uncultured,” Dongmin muttered to himself, setting his music up on the rack. Myungjun desired other things in life, and his taste in music had suffered due to his aspirations. He was beyond help.

Dongmin glanced at his phone lying nearby. He had several messages from Myungjun’s mother, all inquiring about her son’s progress with the composition he was to be learning. She was going to come to the concert, she had stated, in order to ensure Myungjun would play a song properly this time.

Myungjun clearly hadn’t told her he wasn’t going to be on stage. Myungjun clearly hadn’t even told her he was no longer taking lessons. 

Dongmin didn’t know  _ how _ to tell her.

He worried that if he explained the situation, she would take drastic measures. Myungjun might be chastised or scolded, and that would be a best case scenario. Worst case, he would be completely cut off from his family and forced to survive on his own.

He couldn’t do that with the meager salary he was earning from Bin’s school.

Dongmin shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to think of Myungjun’s poor life. Myungjun had dug himself into such a situation, and it was up to him to find a way out of it. For now, Dongmin needed to practice.

It was to be his first chance at a concert in over a year. Since Myungjun had become more difficult to teach and train, Dongmin had sacrificed his own talents to focus on his student. There was no Myungjun to focus on now, though, and Dongmin was free to do as he wished.

His gaze moved away from the phone and to his sheet music. Beethoven’s  _ Sonata Pathetique _ was a gorgeous piece. Myungjun had been unable to bring it to life properly, but Dongmin knew  _ he _ could.

He began to play. His fingers flew over the keys with ease, years and years of dedication and practice transforming a simple composition into a majestic song. He smiled as he played, as he created  _ music _ . This was his element; this was why he was born. He was able to breathe life into notes on a page, and the result was nothing short of beautiful.

He finished and then his smile fell.

It was pretty. He  _ knew _ it was pretty. He had not made a single mistake while playing; in fact, he did better than he thought he would. Still, something was off. Something didn’t seem right. Though it was magnificent to his ears, it still fell flat of what he was trying to achieve. 

What  _ was _ he trying to achieve?

He pursed his lips and started over again. He performed with more energy this time, more  _ gusto _ , letting the soft notes remain soft and letting the loud noise pierce the air.

Still, something wasn’t right.

He sighed and slumped over when the song was done. Was his piano out of tune? Dongmin furrowed his brow before scrambling up from his seat and grabbing his tuner.

He played a note. He played another note.

It was all correctly tuned.

Why, then, was the song so lackluster?

Perhaps Myungjun might know. While Myungjun was no longer playing in concerts, he at least had a pretty good ear. He might be able to detect some sort of mistake. He might be able to explain to Dongmin why it sounded bad.

Except, when he answered, he wasn’t at all interested. “I can’t just drop everything and run over to your place,” he complained. Dongmin heard children in the background of the call. 

“Are you at the school?”

“It’s my job now,” Myungjun said. A hint of pride was in his voice and Dongmin raised his eyebrows. Since switching tracks on life, Myungjun seemed far more happy than he ever had before. Dongmin didn’t know how he could be happy earning the bare minimum and listening to little kids bang small, sticky hands onto the old school pianos.

“Your mother still doesn’t know that.”

Myungjun hesitated. “Will you be telling her?”

“She’s going to figure out one way or another,” Dongmin stated. “She’s coming to the piano concert to see you.”

“Oh.” Myungjun cleared his throat and smacked his lips together. “This is going to be an issue.”

Dongmin waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, Dongmin asked, “Will  _ you _ tell her so she doesn’t waste her time in coming?”

“I...I don’t know. I’ll try to. I just...I don’t know how she’ll react when she learns I failed at becoming a big pianist, like you.”

“You didn’t fail. You gave up.”

Myungjun snorted. “It’s the same thing to her. It wouldn’t matter if I lost all of my fingers and could never play again; she’d see it as a failure. She’d see  _ me _ as a failure.” He sighed, loudly, and said, “But I can’t come right now.”

“Tonight?”

“No. Ah, I’m...Jinwoo and I are going out for drinks.”

“A date?” Dongmin teased, feeling himself smirk.

“No!” Myungjun exclaimed. “I mean...no, it isn’t. Just friends. Just the two of us going out for drinks. As friends.”

“Sure.”

“I can come tomorrow, though.”

Dongmin didn’t want to wait until the next day. He needed answers  _ now _ , and so he rejected Myungjun’s offer. “Thanks, but I’d rather get it figured out as soon as possible. If I can start fixing my mistakes today, then I can practice better tomorrow.”

“Understandable. How about I send Bin over?”

Dongmin’s heart skipped a beat. His fingers curled tighter around his phone. “Bin?”

“Yeah! He’s got a good ear for music, and I don’t think he’s taken a lunch yet. I can text him your address.”

Having Bin over would be a dream come true. Having Bin over would be a nightmare in disguise. Dongmin considered himself composed at all times, but the thought of someone as handsome as  _ Bin _ standing around his home was unnerving, to say the least. Dongmin struggled to think of an excuse,  _ any _ excuse.

“You...you can’t. My house is...it’s dirty. I haven’t been cleaning.”

He could tell Myungjun didn’t believe that. “Yeah, right. You’re the epitome of clean.”

He wished he  _ wasn’t _ such a clean-freak. He wished his house was messy and gross, because then Bin wouldn’t be able to come. As it was, he could only stammer out a few words before Myungjun exclaimed, “Bin will be there shortly! I’ll text him to let him know!”

Then Myungjun hung up.

Dongmin took the phone away from his ear and stared at the device as anxiety brewed in his chest. Hanging out with Bin outside was one thing. Helping him with promoting his school and bringing him sandwiches was one hurdle. Inviting him over was a different one.

“I’ve been over to his place,” Dongmin reminded himself, taking a deep breath. “It’ll be just like that, except it’s  _ my _ place.”

Except that, for some reason, it was frightening and nerve-wracking and Dongmin didn’t know how he was supposed to act.

To calm himself, he cleaned a little bit. He straightened up his living room and wiped down his counters. He pulled out some snack foods from his fridge and pantry and laid them out nicely on his kitchen bar. He poured two glasses of wine, then dumped them both down the drain. “Too much,” he whispered.

But what if Bin wanted some wine? He was using his lunch break to help Dongmin. He might want some wine.

Dongmin poured the wine again, then sighed. It was Tuesday, and it was only noon. Would Bin drink wine this early? He contemplated pouring it out again, but he hated wasting wine.

If Bin didn’t drink his glass, Dongmin would just drink them both later. He would likely need them.

The doorbell rang. Dongmin glanced down at his outfit and grimaced. He shouldn’t have worn such casual clothes. His nice trousers and a suit jacket would be far more impressive to Bin than jeans and a plain t-shirt were. He felt stupid for not trying to dress even a tad bit nicer. He couldn’t change now, though, nor could he fix his hair properly.

All he could do was attempt to hide his blush as he answered the door.

Bin stood there in wait, grinning when he saw Dongmin. In his hand was a bag of food, something that smelled absolutely delicious, and possibly some drinks.

“Hey!” Bin greeted. He stepped inside and took off his shoes. “Sorry I didn’t text, but Jun said he’d already spoken to you about me coming over.”

“He...he did, yeah,” Dongmin murmured. “Um...I’m sorry you had to come here on your lunch break. I didn’t mean—”

Bin waved him off. “It’s not an issue. I’m actually excited to see where you live.” He peered inside the rest of the home and gave a low whistle. “This is really nice. Where’s your piano?”

“It’s...it’s in the other room.” Dongmin returned Bin’s smile, soft and gentle and hopefully not displaying his anxiety. “I have some snacks, too.”

Bin laughed and held up the bag. “I picked us up some lunch. Jajangmyeon?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dongmin weakly protested, but Bin shook his head, a refusal to hear what Dongmin was saying.

“I wanted to,” Bin assured him. “Besides, I’m starving. I haven’t had breakfast.” 

“Should we eat first, then?”

Bin hummed as he thought, then shrugged his shoulders. “It’s up to you. However, I’d like it if you played your music for me while I ate. It’ll be like dinner and a show — besides, I need to get back to work in an hour or so.”

Guilt tugged at Dongmin’s stomach, but he reminded himself that Myungjun was the one who instigated this meetup anyway. Outwardly, he tried to remain professional and polite. He nodded his head and gestured to the next room. “My piano is in here,” he said, and he led Bin into his study.

The study was the largest room of his home. His living room paled in comparison. Filled with natural light from the large windows and decked out with various awards and certifications, the study was Dongmin’s pride and joy. He cleaned it constantly and decorated it as need be. He had various house plants scattered about, soaking up the warmth, and an ornate rug rest underneath the piano itself.

Bin marveled at the sight before him, then his attention was drawn to the piano. “That thing is huge,” he commented.

“It’s a grand piano,” Dongmin explained, and then he chuckled. “It cost me more than my car did.”

“Suddenly, my violin purchase seems tiny in comparison,” Bin joked, smiling over at Dongmin.

Dongmin didn’t want to seem like a snob, nor did he wish to seem too privileged, so he quickly added, “I was silly to buy a grand piano in the first place. I just got a little ahead of myself when I began playing at concerts.” Even that, though, seemed foolish to say, something that a naive rich person would blurt out, and Dongmin struggled to do damage control on his words. “That is, I mean to say I was born into wealth and...clearly I’ve enjoyed it.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “This is all coming out wrong.”

Fortunately, Bin wasn’t at all put off by Dongmin’s words. He laughed, high-pitched and goofy, mouth turning up into a toothy grin. “You’re too nervous,” he commented. “Lighten up a bit! It’s just me!”

It  _ was _ just Bin. As Dongmin had told himself earlier, they had been together many times already. Why, then, was he so nervous now? What was different about this time?

“Okay,” he responded after taking a deep breath. “Would you like to sit down? You can eat and I can play my piece for you.”

Bin nodded and pulled up a chair from the far wall of the room. He began unwrapping his noodles and gestured to the piano. “Start the show whenever you want.”

Bin seemed excited. Even as he pulled out chopsticks, he stared impatiently at the grand piano, ready for music to begin.

Dongmin didn’t want to disappoint him.

He took his seat and adjusted his bench so he was in the correct position. He made sure his music sheets were straight and aligned well, and then he played the first few notes.

Grand pianos had magnificent sound quality. As per the laws of the universe, the larger the instrument, the louder the sound. Dongmin believed, too, that if he were to splurge on an expensive piano, he might as well splurge on a higher-quality expensive piano. The better the piano, the better the sound.

And this piano had lovely sound.

It was the sort regularly used in concert halls, the sort that could carry notes to all audience members, whether they sat at the floor or in the balcony. There was no point in choosing a cheap piano if it was to be an instrument used daily.

Dongmin knew, though, that the musician made the instrument.

The piano would be useless in the hands of someone less capable. For all it’s expensive glory, it would be rendered a plaything should an ametuer pianist attempt to play a composition. 

He had pride in his own abilities. He knew he was incredibly skilled, and his talents shone when he played on such a grand piano. It sounded perfect, exactly as the composer had in mind while writing down notes, and Dongmin couldn’t help but smile as he finished his piece.

He looked over at Bin and asked, “How was that?”

Bin had black bean sauce smeared across his upper lip and a bit splattered on his shirt. His mouth was full, but he still did his best to smile, and he put down his bowl to clap feverently. “That was  _ amazing! _ ” he exclaimed. “Why did you need someone’s opinion; obviously you did awesome!”

Bin’s appreciation was sweet. Dongmin hoped he wasn’t blushing from such praise. As he came down from his high, however, he pursed his lips and asked, “It sounds...off.”

Bin cocked his head and blinked. “ _ Off? _ ”

“Off,” Dongmin confirmed. “I think it’s good — I think it’s  _ perfect _ , but it still doesn’t sound...it doesn’t make me excited. I mean, it  _ does _ , but then it’s...it feels bland. It shouldn’t feel so bland.”

“I didn’t think it was bland.”

Dongmin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’m being ridiculous,” he said. “I shouldn’t be thinking it’s  _ bland _ , should I? I played it as the composer intended. I created a masterpiece from an already-created masterpiece. That’s how it ought to be.”

Yet it still fell flat to Dongmin’s ears. Something was wrong with it, and he wasn’t sure what.

“Have you heard it too many times?” Bin asked him, picking up his noodles again to continue his lunch. “Isn’t this the composition you were teaching Myungjun to play? Maybe you’re just sick of hearing it.”

Dongmin had never before been sick of any compositions. No matter how often he heard them played, he never grew tired of them. They were musical masterpieces, after all, and it was difficult to become weary of a masterpiece.

He shook his head. “No. It’s not that.”

Bin slurped at his noodles before passing his bag over to Dongmin. “Eat. Maybe you have low energy.”

“I drank coffee this morning.”

“Is that all you’ve had?”

Dongmin offered him a small smile, and Bin scoffed. “That’s probably the reason why you hate what you’re playing.”

“I don’t  _ hate _ it,” Dongmin argued.

“Regardless, you really need to eat. We can go to your kitchen so you don’t spill any sauce on your piano.”

Dongmin smirked as he stood from the bench, then gestured over to Bin’s clothes. “You speak from experience, don’t you?”

Bin glanced down at himself, at the sauce that had splattered, and he cursed lightly. “I didn’t realize I had made a mess. I must look like an idiot.” Still, he smiled and looked back up at Dongmin. “And that’s why you should eat in the kitchen.”

Dongmin couldn’t help but laugh. He grabbed the noodles and Bin followed him into the kitchen. “I have wine, too,” Dongmin pointed out, and Bin’s interest piqued. “But you have to go back to work, so perhaps it was a silly idea to break out the alcohol.”

Bin gave a small hum as he thought, then shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the wine. “No one will know if I have a small glass. Besides, I’m the owner — who’s going to fire me?”

He had a point, and he made Dongmin laugh for a second time. “It’s impressive, though, that you own a school. Not too many people can say that.”

Bin smiled into his glass, and after taking a sip, he said, “I own a school that hardly makes any money. It’s not the best business venture in the world. But I...I’m happy with it. The kids need somewhere to go, music to learn, and this is the only school that caters to the less fortunate.”

“You’d make more money if you charged admission,” Dongmin pointed out.

Bin glanced at him. “I can’t do that. It would ruin the purpose of the school.”

“Forgive my boldness,” Dongmin began, “but I think your school would benefit more if you trained professionally. You’re in a good location to do so, and you have good teachers. Myungjun has my backing, and not to be vain, but that carries a lot of weight. People would pay to be taught by him. And...and by you. You’re an extremely talented violinist.”

Bin paused for a few seconds, then raised his eyebrows before downing the rest of his wine. “Speak to me honestly,” he said. “Do you think I’m wasting my talents?”

The answer came without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes.”

Bin smirked. “Let’s focus on your Beethoven, Dongmin.”

He didn’t seem upset. He didn’t seem angry. He seemed almost as if he expected such a response, and it  _ amused _ him.

Bin was interesting. Dongmin truly liked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does dongmin gain confidence and creativity and bin's heart???

**I've begun to realize**

**that you can listen to[silence](https://youtu.be/4xlDGHJQMzw) and learn from it. **

**It has a quality and a dimension all its own.**

Dongmin still felt like he was suffering from a lack of creativity. His fingers hurt from how often he played the piano, but nothing was getting better. It sounded great,  _ perfect _ , even, but Dongmin could tell something was off.

“At this point,” he told Bin, passing over a container of kimbap he had prepared, “I’m inclined to say it  _ is _ a lack of creativity. I think I’ve been listening to you and Myungjun play for so long that I’m being influenced.” He sighed heavily. “Which isn’t a good thing. I really don’t want to be influenced by the two of you.”

Bin, standing there with his violin, made a face and shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re insulting me like that. It hurts, Dongmin.”

“I’m sure you can handle it,” Dongmin teased. He watched as Bin put his violin away and sat down with the container of food in hand. They had come out on the sidewalk for more advertising. Bin was despairing over his money situation, and in an effort to raise more funds, he decided to try busking.

Dongmin felt like a dutiful boyfriend, carrying Bin’s food and drink and water. He wouldn’t mind carrying the  _ boyfriend _ title, either, though he had to admit that he came out for more selfish reasons.

“Why aren’t you practicing?” Bin asked him, and therein lay Dongmin’s selfish reasoning.

He pursed his lips and watched people passing them by. “It’s making me frustrated. I’ve decided to take a short break.” He stole a kimbap from the container Bin was holding. In response to that (and to ensure the rest of his food was not eaten), Bin began to stuff his mouth greedily. “Besides, Myungjun is coming over a bit later to help me out, and I’d rather take a breather until then.”

His next question was going to be, “Would you like to come over, as well?” but he found it too embarrassing to say. At this point, he was shocked that Bin had yet to pick up on his obvious crush. He wasn’t quite sure of the definition of  _ subtle _ . He blushed when Bin complimented him, stuck around in the heat to advertise Bin’s lifelong dream, and practically begged for Bin’s affection and assistance in everything he did. Yet, Bin remained oblivious.

It was likely a blessing Bin had yet to call him out on it.

His next question, then, was not flirtatious or bold. It was instead, “Will you be at the school tonight?”

“Yeah,” Bin nodded as he chewed through whatever else he had in his mouth. Once he swallowed, he added, “I’ll be going over our monthly budget with Minhyuk. Donors are really lacking this year, unfortunately.”

Dongmin felt sad  _ for _ Bin. It was a failed business venture. Still, he wanted to help. He knew the school meant everything to Bin. “How do you get donors, normally?”

Bin shrugged his shoulders. “Advertisements. Word of mouth. I once thought about doing email campaigns, but those cost money. We had been doing well enough in the past, anyway, so I thought we could continue just fine this way. Apparently not, though.”

Dongmin wasn’t sure  _ how _ he could help, other than donating. He had offered as much before, but Bin had brushed him off back then. Maybe now would be different?

Before he could say anything, however, Bin suddenly asked, “Remember when we talked about the composition  _ 4’33” _ ?”

“I remember,” Dongmin replied, “though I disagree that it’s a composition.”

Bin laughed and slapped Dongmin’s back. “Come on, it has such a great meaning! There’s music even in silence. It’s a motto all musicians can live by; even when you aren’t playing the piano or violin, you can listen to the music around you.”

Dongmin glanced around  _ them _ . “Not much here,” he commented, “just the city.”

“And if you were a blind man, you would still recognize that you were in the city. You can hear all these sounds, and they make music that changes based on scenery! It’s impressive.”

Perhaps it was, though Dongmin only viewed it as white noise. He asked, “What’s the point you’re getting at?”

Bin smirked. “ _ 4’33” _ would be a creative piece for you to learn, wouldn’t it?” 

Dongmin disagreed. He wrinkled his nose as Bin laughed at him. “Just...just think about it, Dongmin.” He finished off the last of the kimbap and wiped his hands on his pants. “I should keep playing,” he murmured, and then reached for his violin.

Dongmin sat and watched him, mesmerized by the music he heard and the creativity Bin effortlessly possessed.

He wanted whatever Bin had.

He wanted it  _ minus _ the failed ventures.

(While he was dreaming, he wanted Bin.)

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

It was difficult to practice anything at all with Myungjun talking nonstop. Dongmin had always assumed that he would be proud when Myungjun finally landed himself a boyfriend. He thought it would be a joyous moment, one he would celebrate with confetti and cake and lots of cheer, but here he was, sitting at his piano and glaring at the keys.

Really, though, he had never assumed  _ he _ would like someone. In his mind, he would be proud of Myungjun and still happily single. Reality was a bit different, for he was single but not happily so.

Myungjun, chewing on some snacks and sipping on a beer, sighed again for what seemed like the twelfth time. “He’s honestly perfect, Dongmin. Jinwoo is literally perfect. Did you know he works two jobs? He has the job at Bin’s school, but he also works as a deliveryman for his mom’s flower shop. He knows  _ all _ about flowers. He told me he’s going to get me a  _ gloxinia _ . I didn’t even know what that was, but I looked it up online. Guess what it is, Dongmin.”

Dongmin glanced over at him in exasperation, and Myungjun grinned wide. “Guess!”

“Love?” Dongmin questioned, the word bitter on his tongue. 

To his dismay, Myungjun giggled and nodded his head with enthusiasm. “Love at first sight! Isn’t that so sweet? Gosh, he’s the best.” Myungjun finished off his packet of snacks and stood from the floor. “Why haven’t you played yet?”

“Because you’ve been talking for the past hour,” Dongmin muttered. He looked at his music book, then back down at the keys. “Are you allowing me to play now?”

“You could’ve played at any time, even if I  _ was _ talking. I would’ve shut up.” Myungjun took another gulp of his beer and gestured toward the piano. “Go ahead and play. I want to hear this  _ uncreative _ piece that you’ve got.”

“Shut up,” Dongmin mumbled, but he did as requested. He started playing Beethoven’s _Sonata Pathetique_ just as he was supposed to, just as he always had before. The music sounded pretty and the notes flowed perfectly. During a break in the movements, Dongmin spared a quick glance over to his friend, who listened and watched in amazement. He was doing good, and that should make him happy.

He wasn’t happy at all, though. He was still missing something, though he wasn’t sure what. The piece was far from perfect; it was mediocre to Dongmin’s ears. His technique was good and his skill was obvious, and yet the music fell flat.

When he finished, Myungjun set his beer down to cheer and applaud. “That was amazing!” he exclaimed. “You’re going to do  _ great _ at the concert!”

The concert was in a week. Dongmin had a week to perfect this piece that didn’t sound at all  _ perfect _ .

“It’s not amazing,” he argued, standing up from the bench as frustration filled his body. It pricked at his skin and tugged at his brain, reminding him that he was a failure at the one thing he thought he could do.

Myungjun cocked his head, obviously confused. “But it  _ is _ amazing.”

“That’s what Bin said.”

Myungjun didn’t respond to that. Myungjun kept drinking his beer, curious eyes focused on Dongmin.

“It’s lacking something. I’m not sure what it’s lacking.” Dongmin lightly kicked his piano bench. It scraped across his nice, wooden floor.

“I don’t think it’s lacking anything,” Myungjun commented. He finished off his beer and set it aside. “It was perfect! You hit all the notes correctly and made me feel as if I was floating in an arena full of nothing but music. Why do you think it’s lacking?”

Dongmin shrugged his shoulders, a bit aggressively, and hit a random key. “I think Bin is getting to my head. I think  _ you’re _ getting to my head. You’ve always gone on and on about creativity, and why it’s important to detract from an original piece to make something a little more personalized. That’s not what music is, but Bin does it, too, and maybe I just…”

Myungjun raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dongmin to continue, but Dongmin didn’t  _ want _ to continue. It was embarrassing to say, and he bit his lip and sat in thought.

“Go on,” Myungjun urged.

Dongmin glared at him, but Myungjun’s only reaction was a wide grin.

“I just think Bin’s influence has rubbed off on me a little bit. That’s all.”

There was silence. Myungjun said nothing, and Dongmin wasn’t sure why. He glanced up briefly to make eye contact, but, still, Myungjun simply stared back at him.

“What?” Dongmin finally snapped, unable to take more of the bizarre silence. 

Myungjun snorted. “You like Bin.”

It was a very acute observation. Myungjun was certainly sneaky and intuitive, but Dongmin refused to give him even a sliver of satisfaction.

He scoffed, “Of course I don’t.”

“You have a giant, flaming crush on Bin.”

Dongmin gritted his teeth down. “Why?” he asked. “Just because I said he’s influencing me a bit? I also said  _ you _ were influencing me, so maybe I have a crush on  _ you _ .”

“Nah. You’d never like me,” Myungjun replied. Dongmin could hear every ounce of his stupid smile in his stupid voice, and he hated it. “But you hesitated before you spoke more about Bin, and then you tried to lie and act like he just  _ influenced _ you.”

Dongmin frowned. “He did influence me.”

“Mmhm. Sure he did. He  _ influenced _ you. Alright.”

Dongmin didn’t quite like Myungjun’s attitude. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his piano, deciding that he would be the bigger man and let their argument go.

However, Myungjun obviously was not quite ready to let things go. He hummed slightly, and when Dongmin didn’t respond, he asked, “Are you and Bin going to go on a date?”

“Oh, my god—”

“I used to want to date him, you know. Back when we first met. But I think Jinwoo is  _ way _ more attractive.” Myungjun hurried to Dongmin’s side and gave the pianist a pat. “Romantic attraction aside, maybe you think that it’s not creative because it  _ isn’t _ creative.”

Dongmin had been prepared to fight a little bit more with Myungjun, but his words gave him a pause. “And what do you suggest I do?”

Myungjun shrugged. “Modify the original composition.”

“You know as well as anyone that they don’t allow for modifications at these concerts,” Dongmin reminded him. “Besides, the original composition is fine. It’s gorgeous. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with it for modification,” Myungjun responded. “It gets really boring to hear the exact same song played in the exact same way. I’m wondering if you’ve just become tired of  _ Sonata Pathetique _ .” He ran his fingers through his hair and stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “You’re right, though: you won’t be able to modify this piece for the concert.”

Dongmin felt despair hit him. He slumped over in his seat and gave a loud sigh. “What should I do now? I can submit a different composition, I guess, but I’m worried that any of the compositions I try to do will feel the exact same. They’ll all be original, and I won’t be able to add in any creativity.”

Myungjun ruffled Dongmin’s hair and smiled. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that Lee Dongmin decided he wanted to add  _ creativity _ into a composition. This is astonishing.”

“If you aren’t going to offer any help, then you can just leave,” Dongmin muttered. He realized, though, after a few seconds of thought, that he didn’t need Myungjun’s help. He already had Bin’s help, and Bin had already given him some good advice.

“Hey, Jun?” he asked, glancing up in anticipation. “Have you heard of  _ 4’33”? _ ”

Myungjun hadn’t, and Dongmin blamed himself. If he had been a little more interested in abnormal compositions, interesting pieces of art, then he would’ve taken the time to teach both himself and Myungjun more about such things. As it was, he now had the opportunity to teach, and so he pulled up a video on his phone and sat on the floor with Myungjun, studying the composition with heavy focus.

Watching the video was odd. It was weird, really, to watch a man sit in complete silence. Every sound was amplified, both from the video and from Dongmin’s own apartment. He could hear his air conditioning unit turn on, a small click and a rush of air. He could hear Myungjun’s stomach making a weird, rumbling noise, likely the effect of drinking so quickly in such a short amount of time. He could hear, too, on the video, someone cough and someone else move in their seats and someone else give the tiniest of sighs.

When the composition was completed, when the audience had cheered, Dongmin asked, “Why did they cheer? He didn’t do anything.”

Myungjun replayed the video, though this time he didn’t remain silent. “It’s all really precise,” Myungjun commented, ignoring Dongmin’s question. “You can see the timer on his piano, but he does certain things throughout the duration of the piece. Look…” Myungjun skipped ahead a bit. At one point, the pianist opens the lid of the piano that he had previously closed at the beginning, but only briefly. It was closed again, and he repeated the same process twice more.

“Maybe he does that because it makes sound,” Myungjun wondered to himself, watching the silent performance with interest. “I can’t see why else it’s being done.”

Dongmin thought for a second or two, then suggested, “Perhaps it’s to mark the end of the movements. Nearly all compositions have movements, and they have a small break to switch from one piece to the next. He might be doing the same thing here.”

“Movements are about moods, though,” Myungjun pointed out. “And I don’t think the mood of his piece changes.”

“Depending on the audience reaction, it might.” Dongmin replayed the video for a third time, keeping a careful eye on the movements of the pianist and the reactions of the audience. He wasn’t able to  _ see _ their reactions, so he had to discern based solely on sound.

That was what the composition was about, though, wasn’t it? As he listened he realized that the sound was creating the mood. He could  _ hear _ the awkward silence that befell the audience when they waited in vain for music to begin. The second movement had more sound; coughs and small whispers and sniffling. The third movement had shuffling; people moving around in their seats or else leaving in frustration. 

“First movement is confusion,” he told Myungjun, who leaned against him as he tried his best to explain the moods. “Second movement is…” He struggled to make an answer, but Myungjun broke into his thoughts.

“First movement is anticipation for something that will never come,” the older boy stated. “Second movement is confusion. Third movement is a reluctant acceptance.”

Somehow, Myungjun managed to nail all of the movements without any hesitation. Dongmin felt pride balloon in his chest, and he nudged his friend. “Imagine how great you would be if you stuck on the route I had put you on,” he teased.

“Imagine how  _ miserable _ I would be.” Myungjun smacked Dongmin’s back and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. “So, have you made up your mind? Are you going to perform  _ 4’33”? _ ”

Dongmin had yet to make up his mind. He was tempted to confirm Myungjun’s question, to go up on stage and sit down at his piano in absolute silence, but it was such a scary thought. 

“I’m used to people watching me in fascination and awe,” he commented. “I’m used to people thinking to themselves,  _ wow, I could never do what he does _ .” He looked at his phone and clicked the replay button again. “Anyone could do this.”

Myungjun shook his head. “No, not anyone, because then I would’ve already heard it played at one of the concerts. I think it takes a special kind of pianist to go on stage and sit at a piano and let his fingers remain still. It’s hardwired into our bodies at this point that we  _ must _ play a piano if there’s one around and an audience watching us expectantly. You have to be determined not to play. You have to be creative enough to understand the complexities of the silence you’re producing.”

Myungjun’s words were odd yet inspiring. Dongmin had never before thought he would get on stage and  _ surprise _ the audience. They always came to hear exactly what they believed they would hear. And instead, he would shock them with absolute silence.

“Find me the sheet music,” he muttered, pressing pause on the video.

Myungjun grinned. “There’s probably no sheet music for silence,” he pointed out. “But I’ll try my best.”

As Myungjun ran off to grab Dongmin’s laptop, Dongmin pulled up Bin’s number on his cell phone. He didn’t get an answer; Bin was likely working at the school, perhaps pouring over more budgetary spreadsheets with Minhyuk by his side. The silence he received, however, didn’t bother Dongmin.

Silence was music, and he was going to make the best damn music anyone had ever heard.

He left a simple voicemail, a quick voicemail, smiling all the while.

“I’m switching compositions. I’m going to play  _ 4’33” _ .”

He cleared his throat, kept silent for five seconds, exactly, then murmured, “Thank you, Bin, for giving me the courage to do this.”

When he hung up, he felt rejuvenated and ready to prove to himself that music wasn’t what he initially assumed it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UHOH

_**Where words fail** _

_**[music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0-y8oNDLgU)speaks** _

Bin was with him as he sent the email to the manager of the venue, explaining the change of both pianist and song. Bin urged him to go forward, even as Dongmin’s fingers faltered on the keyboard. It was much more helpful to have Bin close by rather than Myungjun. Myungjun would’ve pestered him; Bin was gentle and polite and kind. He reminded Dongmin of the accomplishments he could make in his own personal life should he switch compositions, and he reminded Dongmin of the respect he would likely be given by choosing such an unconventional song.

“I wouldn’t say _respect_ ,” Dongmin said as he pressed the _send_ button. “I would not respect someone who wasted my time by _not_ playing a piece.”

Bin snorted. “I doubt anyone will view it was _wasting your time_.”

“I would.”

He closed the laptop gingerly and set it aside, leaning back onto his couch with a loud sigh. “If I go to a concert, I expect to hear music. I expect for amazing compositions to be brought to life within the space of the venue. I expect to be wowed and awed by the talent of pianists. I don’t expect to sit in an awkward silence, staring up at a man who only stares at his keys and does not play them.”

He had been so excited earlier to switch his composition to _4’33”._ He wished he could relive that excitement, for now all he felt was dread dripping within his chest.

Bin gave a small hum. “In a way, _4’33”_ is music. You understand that, right, Dongmin? Because I don’t feel as if you can truly bring that piece to life unless you understand the silence you hear is music.”

Dongmin had tried, with Myungjun, to listen only to the noises around him and nothing else. He figured out the movements for the composition, the mood that the silence made, but he still didn’t believe it to be _music_. 

“Can it really be a musical composition if there was nothing actually composed?” Dongmin asked. “I mean, look.” He pulled out some sheet music from underneath his laptop and showed it to Bin. “No notes. Just silence. Is that really music?”

Bin smirked and took the paper away from Dongmin. He examined it briefly, then said, “You’re putting too much importance in notes written on a page. You aren’t putting enough importance in music created naturally.”

“There’s no music created in a concert hall. I would understand it more if it was outside, perhaps, with birds singing, or near wind chimes, or with a thunderstorm. Those things aren’t necessarily _music_ but I can understand wanting to amplify the sounds of nature a bit more. But here…” Dongmin gestured around his living room and shook his head. “There’s no music here.”

Bin nodded as he looked around. “No,” he agreed. He set the papers on the coffee table and turned so he was facing Dongmin. “But I think if you listen well, you can hear the music. Here, hold my hands.” He wiggled his fingers and stared expectantly at Dongmin.

Dongmin wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t even sure how to feel, really, for he had never held another man’s hands before. He had focused solely on his music career when he was younger, and even while Myungjun was dating girls and boys, Dongmin stayed hunched over a piano. Myungjun always claimed he had lost out on a good portion of his life, but Dongmin didn’t believe so until this moment.

He wished he had held hands with someone in his youth, for it would make this moment far more bearable.

“Ah,” he said, which was the most idiotic response he had ever given to someone.

Bin cocked his head and gestured with his hands. “Come on,” he urged. “Hold my hands. I won’t bite, promise.”

Dongmin swallowed nervously. He knew his cheeks were turning red; his complexion was pale and he colored easily. He hoped Bin would ignore any sort of blushing he saw, though he knew it was impossible to overlook.

“I...I don’t think we, um, we need to hold hands,” he stammered out.

In response to that, Bin grabbed his hands and enveloped their fingers together. Dongmin weakly pulled away but Bin’s hands were strong. They kept tight hold of him while not exactly squeezing or pulling. Dongmin could feel callouses, likely from playing the violin, and he could feel the lotion that Bin put on in an effort to hide such callouses.

He couldn’t look up at Bin’s face, though, in fear of the humiliation that might await him.

“Close your eyes,” Bin said, rubbing a thumb over Dongmin’s skin. Dongmin had to remind himself how to breathe properly. “Close your eyes,” Bin repeated when Dongmin did nothing. 

“It’s, um—” Dongmin licked his lips and shook his head. “Perhaps this is unnecessary. It feels unnecessary.”

Bin squeezed his hands, still gentle in his touch. “It’s totally necessary,” Bin murmured. “Come on. Just humor me this once, alright?”

His voice was so soft, so calming, and Dongmin felt the need to follow his instructions. He closed his eyes, as Bin requested, and took a deep breath. “Alright,” he whispered. “Now what?”

“Listen.”

It was excruciating to hear the sound of _nothing_ , save for his own breathing and Bin’s breathing. His heart beat wildly in his chest. His brain gave him jumbled ideas of how to win Bin’s affections. It was a symphony of confusion, an orchestra of hopeless romance.

It was _music_.

“Alright,” Bin said after a few awkward moments had passed. “Open your eyes now.”

Dongmin did, and then Bin released his hands. 

Dongmin wished he hadn’t.

“So tell me what you heard,” Bin said. When Dongmin spared a glance up at him, his eyes with bright and curious. He looked excited, too, and eager to hear whatever was on Dongmin’s mind.

It would be too embarrassing to tell Bin anything about what he had heard and the music created from his unrequited feelings.

“Mostly breathing,” he lied, staring down at his empty hands. Maybe he could get Bin to hold them again soon.

Bin sighed and sat back into the couch. “Lee Dongmin, you’re a difficult, difficult man,” he commented. “Didn’t you hear anything other than breathing?”

Dongmin shook his head, keeping with his lie. He couldn’t tell the truth, not if he wanted to keep whatever dignity he had left.

“Oh.” Bin cleared his throat and then ran his fingers through his hair. His bangs were floppy. His hair was getting too long. Dongmin wanted to suggest he get a haircut, but he also found his voice was incapable of working very well.

Bin stood from the couch and yawned. “It’s getting late,” he commented. “I should go.”

It was late; Dongmin hadn’t realized how quickly time passed when he was hanging out with Bin. He always had so much fun with Bin, and it was truly a pity their evening was cut short so suddenly. He stood, too, wanting to at least see Bin off.

“Thanks for coming by,” he said, smiling, as he followed Bin to his front door. Bin pulled his shoes on and Dongmin continued, “I think I’m getting better at _4’33”_. The concert is in three days, but I know by then I’ll perfect the movements and I’ll hopefully understand the music of silence more.”

“I think you will,” Bin agreed, returning Dongmin’s smile.

However, Dongmin had one more question, and once Bin opened the door, Dongmin blurted it out. “What did you hear?”

Bin looked confused at first. He raised his eyebrows, and Dongmin could see the question _what_ form on his lips. In an effort to explain himself, he expanded his question, “When we were listening to the silence, what music did _you_ hear?”

“A lot,” Bin responded with a small chuckle. He leaned against the door frame, his fingers still gripping the handle. “I heard breathing, of course, but I heard my own heart beating fast and I heard the blood rushing up into my cheeks and I heard my mind telling me _you’re finally holding Dongmin’s hands!_ ”

Dongmin’s mouth felt dry. His eyes widened as he stared at Bin, who simply chuckled again and exclaimed, “I’ll talk to you later, alright? Bye, Dongmin!”

He left in a hurry. Dongmin could only stare at the closed door in amazement.

He put a hand up to his chest in hopes it would calm his heart which beat wildly inside his ribcage for the second time that day.

Bin liked him.

Bin _liked_ him.

Bin liked _him._

Dongmin grinned and felt his burning cheeks, delighted at the prospect of his crush returning his affections.

In the silence between them, they had both felt love.

Silence truly did have music.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

“You closed the piano too early,” Myungjun said, standing right behind Dongmin’s shoulder and whispering out the seconds. “Try again.”

“It’s difficult with you hovering over me,” Dongmin complained, but he decided to do as Myungjun asked. He stood from the bench and stepped away from the piano, grabbing his stopwatch as he did so.

Myungjun scoffed and directed Dongmin back to his original starting position. “I watched you do it from afar a few times. It has to be _perfect_ , alright? I’m just making sure it’s going to be perfect.”

While Dongmin fussed, Myungjun _was_ being helpful. He was taking an entire day off just to assist Dongmin and his weird composition. He wasn’t whining about staying too long, nor was he getting upset when Dongmin messed up. He remained, as he always had been, a wonderful friend and Dongmin was fortunate to have him. 

“Alright,” Dongmin stated once he was where Myungjun directed him to be. “So I’ll step out, and then give my bow and let the audience clap.”

Myungjun pretended to be the audience. He whooped and cheered as Dongmin took his bow, and Dongmin couldn’t help but smirk. “Quiet,” he whispered.

Myungjun giggled and pointed back to the starting position. “Not part of the composition. Get over there, Minnie.”

Dongmin didn’t listen, for he knew Myungjun was simply teasing. He held his finger up to his lip, universal sign for _quiet,_ and then walked to the piano. Once seated on the bench, he started his timer and then remained still, eyes trained ahead at his sheet music, glancing toward the timer as the first movement came to an end.

When he closed the lid on the piano, he was late.

“Start over!” Myungjun called, hurrying toward Dongmin’s side. “Ah, seriously, you’re really distracted today, aren’t you?”

Dongmin _was_ distracted. He hadn’t spoken to Bin since their conversation last night, but his heart sped up just thinking about him. Bin _liked_ Dongmin. Bin felt nervous yet hopeful while holding onto his hand. Bin had been blushing, too, by his own accounts (though Dongmin couldn’t detect any blush — of course, he had been preoccupied at the time). The idea that Bin liked him just as much as Dongmin liked Bin was amazing and wonderful and exhilarating. Dongmin never had love returned before; it was _exciting_.

“Bin sort of confessed to me last night,” he murmured, picking up his stopwatch and sheet music.

Myungjun gasped. “Oh my _god!_ ” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. A wide, toothy smile spread across his face. “What was it like? Tell me everything!”

And so Dongmin did. Dongmin performed the same hand-holding-action he had received, too, making Myungjun squeal with delight. And Dongmin did his best to copy Bin’s voice and movements when he had given his response to Dongmin’s question, something Myungjun truly appreciated. By the time he finished, he was flushed and Myungjun was practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe this! My two best friends, ready to date! Has he asked you out yet? Has he texted you yet?”

Dongmin shook his head and glanced over to his phone. Nothing, save for information about the concert. “Not yet,” he replied, a little disheartened. “Should I text him?”

“No.” Myungjun was quick to answer. “He’s the one who confessed, so he should be the one to text you.” Myungjun had more experience with dating, and so Dongmin was willing to defer to his judgement.

However, as Dongmin made a move to put his phone away, Myungjun added, “Of course, perhaps if you confess to him, he’ll be more willing to set up some sort of date.”

“So which is it?”

Before Myungjun could answer the question, there was a loud knocking on the door. Myungjun perked up and shook Dongmin’s arm. “Were you expecting visitors today?” he asked, glee dripping among his words.

“No,” Dongmin muttered. “I, uh...I’m not.”

“What if that’s Bin?” Myungjun’s excitement was contagious, for now Dongmin felt hope rise up within his chest. “What if Bin’s come to do some sort of grand gesture and ask you out?”

Dongmin felt his cheeks. Great, he was warm. There was most likely a blush forming, and he tried to take a few deep breaths to calm down. “It wouldn’t be him,” he blurted out, though he prayed otherwise. 

He went to the front door, Myungjun hot on his heels, grinning deviously. 

When he opened the door, however, it most certainly _wasn’t_ Bin. Dongmin’s heart dropped for a brief moment before he recognized the unannounced guest. “Mrs. Kim?” 

Myungjun’s mother stood before him, a glower in her gaze and tension in her stance. She stepped into the house and removed her shoes before turning to Dongmin.

“Why has Myungjun’s name been taken off the concert pianists and replaced with _yours?_ ” she asked. She had cut straight to the point, and Dongmin, still flustered over the concept of Bin asking him on a date, was a bit too slow with the answer.

“We...um, welcome. Welcome to my house. It’s, uh, it was a decision Myungjun and I made — has he still not told you?”

From the look of her face, and the look of Myungjun’s shocked and horrified expression, he most certainly did not.

Myungjun’s mother stepped closer to her son. In her hand was a program, and Dongmin didn’t even have to look at it to see that his name was there, likely under Beethoven’s _Sonata Pathetique_. It had to be an early program, one that had yet to reflect his new composition. Still, regardless of what the composition name was, only one name mattered to her.

And that name wasn’t listed.

“What’s this about, Myungjun?” she asked, her voice devoid of any warmth and familiarity. 

Dongmin had always hated seeing Myungjun and his mother interact. It was a relationship filled with strife and disappointment. They treated each other less cordially than strangers, and it was awkward and painful to watch.

Now, he only glanced at Myungjun, at his obvious discomfort and frustration, before averting his gaze.

“It’s, um, it’s the program for the concert,” Myungjun stammered. “Dongmin’s taking my spot.”

“ _Why?_ ” Mrs. Kim snapped. Dongmin could just barely make out Myungjun wince. He had to look up, to make sure his friend was okay.

Myungjun took a deep breath and began his explanation. “I started working at a music school for underprivileged kids. It’s great, Mom. I teach them how to play the piano, and I even...I met someone there. Jinwoo. He’s, um, he’s really sweet and he’s a great drummer, and I...I really like him. I really like the whole school.”

His mother listened but clearly didn’t bother to even _try_ to understand Myungjun’s emotions. “You’re gay?” Her eyes widened. Her head swiveled to Dongmin, who said nothing, and then back to Myungjun, who shifted uncomfortably.

He nodded his head, slow and cautious. “I...I told you before,” he said. “Remember when I was dating Dowoon?”

She clearly did not, if the confusion on her face was evident.

“You said it was a phase,” Myungjun reminded her. He was a little riled up, it seemed, a little bold, and so he continued, “And obviously it isn’t, since I still only want to date boys.”

His mother came from her shock. She stepped forward again and waved the program in Myungjun’s face, hitting the bridge of his nose a few times. Myungjun flinched, but otherwise stood his ground. “You’re gay, _and_ you’re a failure?” she snapped. “Instead of redeeming yourself with this concert, you let Dongmin go up on stage and make a fool of himself? Is that the game you’re playing?”

Dongmin hadn’t wanted to be involved, and it was unfortunate that Mrs. Kim brought up his name. However, he was confused, and he broke in to ask, “A fool of myself? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Myungjun is making you play a fake composition!” Mrs. Kim exclaimed. She threw the program aside, and Dongmin’s stomach turned as he looked down at it. It must be the new program. They must have made the change he had requested.

Was he really going to make a fool of himself if he played _4’33”_?

“Do you have any idea how humiliated I was when one of the other pianists called me to ask why my son wouldn’t be playing in the concert? Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to hear that Dongmin is better than you, anyway, even though he’s going to be playing such a fake composition?”

“It’s not fake!” Myungjun exclaimed. “And I don’t want to play in the concert! I never _did_ , and you know it. Why can’t you just accept me for who I am? Why do you want _Dongmin_ to be your son so bad? I’m a good person, Mom! Why can’t I be your son despite what I want to do in life?”

Mrs. Kim scoffed. “Dongmin would be a far better child than you would ever be.”

Myungjun had longed his whole life to fit in. He told as much to Dongmin when they were younger. He wanted a mother who loved him. Comparisons were painful to hear; comparisons to his best friend were obviously worse.

“I’m _not_ Dongmin,” Myungjun retorted, eyebrows furrowed with anger. “And I’ll never _be_ Dongmin. And I won’t play the piano at concerts, and I won’t quit my job at the school, and I won’t break up with Jinwoo.”

His mother stood for a few seconds, shaking with fury. Then she slapped Myungjun with the back of her hand.

It was clearly a move she thought through. She had a chance to stop herself, to calm herself down, but the vindictive nature of the abuse was so uncalled for and Dongmin stood in bewilderment.

Myungjun had stumbled backwards from the force of the hit. His hand came up to cradle his face where she hit him, and he choked out a soft cry of pain and betrayal. It appeared one of her many, fancy rings had caused the most damage. Dongmin could already detect blood rolling down Myungjun’s chin.

Dongmin only moved because of the gasped sobs he heard from Myungjun. He rushed passed Myungjun’s mother and wrapped his arms around his best friend, protecting him from any other attacks.

It seemed, fortunately, Mrs. Kim was done with them. She didn’t appear to have an ounce of remorse in her voice as she snarled, “Good luck without me, Myungjun.” She put her shoes back on, calmer than she had initially been, and then stalked out of the house, slamming the door for good measure.

Dongmin cupped Myungjun’s cheek with his hand and forced the older boy’s head up. “Let me see,” Dongmin murmured.

Myungjun looked miserable. Tears streamed down his face and blood welled up at the corner of his lips.

“Sh-She hit me,” Myungjun cried out, wiping the blood away. “Dongmin, she hi-hit me!”

Before, Mrs. Kim had been content with verbal abuse. She had transformed even more into a monster, and Dongmin embraced Myungjun tightly within his arms as he tried not to replay that horrid scene in his head again.

His eyes traveled down to the program laying harmlessly on the floor.

He was truly a selfish man, Dongmin thought, for even as Myungjun cried and wailed in his hold, he couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Kim was right.

He would render himself a fool if he went up on that stage and played _4’33”_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was supposed to end at ten chapters but i kinda like it so we're going forward my friends

_**And those who were seen dancing** _

_**were thought to be insane** _

_**by those who could not hear the[music](https://youtu.be/fWL_ubtSKbs).** _

Dongmin always had two constants in his life: his piano and his best friend. He had never been without his piano before, and he had never been without a dazzling Myungjun by his side. Of course, nothing ever remains  _ constant _ . Humans aged, the earth changed, and life moved on. His life would move on, but in the meantime he found himself completely clueless as to what to do next. Things around him had fallen apart, all because Mrs. Kim had to make her displeasure known. Now that Mrs. Kim had visited, Dongmin was unsure of his musical abilities and Myungjun was a mess, unable to be comforted in the slightest.

There was one day left until the concert, and Dongmin sat at his piano, staring down at the keys in fear. What had once been a source of comfort, an object to display his greatest talents, had now become a daunting reminder of his failure as both a musician and a friend. He couldn’t play  _ 4’33” _ for he would make a fool of himself, as Mrs. Kim suggested, and he couldn’t offer comfort to Myungjun for he was unsure of how to appease a man who had just been cast out from his family.

Dongmin sighed and closed his eyes briefly. He longed for the creativity he had felt with Bin to come back, to grace him with plentiful opportunities to prove himself as more than just a man who spit out composition after composition. He wanted to be like Bin and like Myungjun.

Or so he had assumed. Of course, now that he had more time to ponder such a desire, perhaps not. Bin was the owner of a failing music school and Myungjun was a disowned son.

Dongmin’s phone rang in his pocket. The sound was loud, echoing around the empty room, and so Dongmin gave a start before answering. He didn’t look at the caller ID. There was no point, really, for he couldn’t think of anyone he  _ wanted _ to speak with at that moment.

“Hello?” he greeted, cautiously.

Bin was on the other line. “Dongmin! Hi!”

They hadn’t talked since the day they held hands. It seemed so long ago, perhaps years in the past, but when Dongmin thought it through, he realized it only took place two days prior. He felt as if he had aged hundreds of years in the meantime, and he was sure his resigned voice sounded the same.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I, um...I heard about Myungjun.”

Dongmin hadn’t told Bin anything. Who was he to air someone else’s dirty laundry? Who was he to go into details over the events that had taken place? That slap still rung heavily in his mind, as did the image of Myungjun cowering, bleeding, in front of the one person who was supposed to protect him.

“Yeah,” was what Dongmin said instead of explaining things. He tapped his fingers on top of his well-polished piano, admiring the sound they made, admiring the fingerprints left behind.

Bin was quiet for a few seconds, then murmured, “Is he alright?”

“I don’t know,” Dongmin admitted. “He hung out here for a while after...after his mom dropped by. Then he went back to his place.” He tightened his lips. “How did you hear about it?”

“He called Jinwoo to let him know. Jinwoo told me a few details, just because Myungjun didn’t feel like coming in today. His mother hit him?”

Dongmin sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered, repeating his earlier statement. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what else to explain. He felt selfish, too, for wanting his own comfort, for wanting Bin to be near  _ his _ side and convince him still to play  _ 4’33”. _ A stupid piano concert was nothing in comparison to the hardships Myungjun was facing.

Bin cursed, then apologized for his language. “It’s just...I knew he didn’t get along well with his mom, but I honestly never thought she would hit him. That’s...it’s a bit surprising.”

It wasn’t exactly surprising to Dongmin. He supposed he should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve told Mrs. Kim earlier, too, about Myungjun’s withdrawal from the concert. Perhaps if it hadn’t come as a complete shock to her, she would’ve reacted better.

Then again, she reacted poorly when she heard Myungjun made one mistake during a different concert. She didn’t even speak to Myungjun about it, nor did she try to offer him comfort or advice. She had remained cold and distant in all of her dealings with her son.

“Myungjun is a disappointment to her,” Dongmin told Bin, standing from his seat at the piano. “He exists only to remind her that he’s a failure. In her mind, anyone else would be a better son than Myungjun.” Dongmin closed the lid to his piano, slamming it a bit louder than necessary, and continued, “The worst part is that I was a willing participant in it all. If I had rejected the opportunity to teach Myungjun, then perhaps the fallout wouldn’t have been so horrible.”

“Hey, it isn’t your fault,” Bin assured him. “I mean, his mom would’ve likely found someone else to teach Myungjun. The other person might not be a friend to him, and Myungjun would be more lost than ever before. You gave Myungjun the chance to explore other options and live out a life  _ he _ wanted to live.”

Bin’s words were kind and sweet, but they certainly didn’t take away the guilt that had settled within Dongmin’s stomach. 

“If I had at least stuck up for him, though, he wouldn’t have been hit,” Dongmin murmured. “While Myungjun was getting fussed at and yelled at, I just...I sat there and allowed for it to happen. Maybe if I had stepped in and put some distance between them, it would’ve turned out better.”

“Dongmin, you aren’t responsible for Myungjun’s crazy mother,” Bin assured him. He spoke softly, gently, and made Dongmin feel slightly more at ease. “She did that on her own, and maybe more trouble would be caused if you had stepped in.”

While Dongmin didn’t necessarily believe that his lack of involvement had  _ helped _ matters, he knew he was unable to change what had happened in the past. It was over with; Myungjun had been hit by his mother and was clearly distraught. 

Dongmin sighed. “I know,” he muttered, and he did know. Bin was correct. Dongmin had to stop worrying about his own guilt and start focusing on the more pressing matters at hand; that being his best friend’s happiness and his own concert piece.

He wanted to say something else. He wanted to get Bin’s assurance that playing  _ 4’33” _ was a great choice, a perfect choice. However, he was unable to say anything before he heard knocking at his front door.

“Hey, Bin, I need to call you back later,” Dongmin stated, hurrying over to the front entrance. “Someone’s at my door.”

Bin bid him farewell and Dongmin stuck his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

When he opened the door, he was met with a forlorn Myungjun who had with him three canvas suitcases. He tried to smile at Dongmin but it fell flat rather quickly.

“Mom broke off my lease,” he explained, though Dongmin hadn’t asked. “And she cut off my credit card. I, um…” He took a deep breath. It was clear he had been crying; his eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were wet with tear streaks. “I don’t really have anywhere to go. Can I stay with you for a bit?”

He needn’t ask; Dongmin’s home was always open for Myungjun. And now especially with Myungjun alone in the world and devoid of any support, Dongmin’s home was a welcome spot.

Dongmin said nothing at first. He smiled as he grabbed one of Myungjun’s bags, then gave him a small nod. “I had my guest room cleaned,” he commented softly. “You can stay there.”

“Thanks.” Rather than crying anymore about it, Myungjun seemed rather resigned to his fate. He mentioned as much to Dongmin as they set up his room. “I kinda expected it. I figured she was mad at me and didn’t want to care for me anymore, so the next logical step for her to take was  _ this _ . It sucks, but…” He shrugged his shoulders, proving that he was accepting whatever calamity had befallen upon him.

Dongmin couldn’t understand. While he lived away from his parents, he was still close to them and he knew they would accept him regardless of his plans in life. He had never been cut from their wealth and would  _ never _ be cut from their lives.

He didn’t say that, however, for he didn’t want to boast about his own wonderful upbringing while his friend was suddenly thrust into such a terrible situation. He instead nodded his head and worked on unpacking some of Myungjun’s clothes in order to hang them up in his closet.

Myungjun continued talking, sounding insecure and very un-Myungjun-like. “I haven’t told Jinwoo yet that I’ve been kicked out. Can you not mention it? Please? I’m...I’m humiliated.”

“What’s there to be humiliated about?” Dongmin asked, glancing over at Myungjun. “None of this is  _ your _ fault. You shouldn’t be humiliated.”

“I relied on my mom for everything,” Myungjun muttered. “I probably shouldn’t have. I  _ definitely _ shouldn’t have, because now I’m…” Myungjun gestured to the bags he had, with only a few of his belongings. “Mom sent movers to my place while I was out. They packed up most of my things. I managed to grab these clothes.”

He was trying hard not to cry. Dongmin could see his lower lip quiver, his shoulders slump, his face fall. He was remaining strong despite the circumstances he was involved with and Dongmin admired his spirit. 

“I can get you more clothes,” Dongmin assured him. “And soon you’ll save up enough for a new apartment — or if things are going well with Jinwoo, you can move in with him!”

Myungjun nodded his head, as if agreeing with what Dongmin said, but then murmured, “No.”

“No?” Dongmin repeated. “No to what?”

“I...I don’t want to rely on someone else again.” Myungjun took his clothes away from Dongmin’s arms, intent on hanging things up himself. “That’s what got me into this position in the first place. I’m not going to rely on you or Jinwoo.”

Dongmin was usually proud of Myungjun for his independence, but in this instance, it scared him. How was Myungjun to rely on others when he couldn’t even care for himself? He swallowed thickly and asked as much. “What will you do, then?”

Myungjun took a deep breath, as if weighing his difficult options, then responded, “I’ll stay here for now, if that’s alright with you. In the meantime I can look into renting an apartment close to the school. Somewhere cheap, maybe. And I’ll pay you back for...for everything. I promise.”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” Dongmin quickly retorted, shaking his head. He tried to grab more clothes from Myungjun, but was unable to. Myungjun blocked him by turning around and holding the clothes away from Dongmin’s reaching hands. “Myungjun, stop! Let me help! I  _ want _ to help you!”

Myungjun stepped away from Dongmin. “ _ You _ stop,” he snapped. “You’re helping me enough already. I don’t want to burden you, especially not when you have to prepare for that concert.”

“I’m...I’m done preparing for the concert,” Dongmin said. It wasn’t necessarily a lie; while he still hadn’t decided whether or not he’d play  _ 4’33” _ or Beethoven’s  _ Sonata Pathetique _ , he at least knew both of those compositions. Besides, his friendship with Myungjun was worth more than some stupid concert. Dongmin couldn’t care less about the concert at this point; all he wanted to do was ensure Myungjun’s life got back on track.

Myungjun gave a small huff and dropped everything onto his bed. “Then let me hear you,” he ordered, but quickly corrected himself with, “Let me  _ watch _ you. I want to watch you play  _ 4’33”. _ ”

It wasn’t exactly the composition Dongmin had chosen, but when he saw how wet Myungjun’s eyes still were, how close to another breakdown Myungjun was, he felt compelled to agree.

For the past night, the silence offered by  _ 4’33” _ had been uncertainty, fear, and stress as he worried whether or not to play such a controversial composition. Today, Dongmin realized the silence of  _ 4’33” _ was Myungjun’s quiet sobs from his position as he watched Dongmin’s hands gingerly close the piano lid and open it back up again. Dongmin sat, the sad music of Myungjun’s tears causing him more heartache than he thought was possible.

In that moment, he made up his mind: he hated  _ 4’33” _ .

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

The day of the concert came upon him like a freight train. And, really, Dongmin would have rather been hit by a freight train than to actually go up on stage in front of a couple hundred people and play a piece he knew would serve only as a disappointment. 

Myungjun hadn’t come to the concert. He had offered to, with a tremor in his voice and uncertainty in his eyes, but Dongmin shook his head and told Myungjun to stay put, to rest and relax and not worry himself. The concert hall wouldn’t be a good place for Myungjun, not when the concert hall was what ruined him.

Of course, that meant he had to dodge Jinwoo’s panicked and worried questions. “Myungjun hasn’t been texting me. Is he alright?”

Dongmin offered a small smile, though it was tight and he was doubtful his smile would comfort Jinwoo, anyway. “He’s...he’s hanging in there.”

So Myungjun still hadn’t told him about the apartment situation. Poor Myungjun. He was humiliated and downtrodden, so much so that he wouldn’t even open up to his own boyfriend.

“Maybe I should visit him,” Jinwoo muttered. He looked to Dongmin for advice, for a suggestion, and Dongmin cleared his throat.

“I can ask later,” Dongmin assured him. “I’ll see if he’s up for visitors.”

His words offered very little in terms of a solution, but Jinwoo seemed to accept them anyway. “Why isn’t he coming today?” he asked.

Dongmin glanced at Bin, who appeared just as interested. Of course he was; Bin and Myungjun had been friends first. “He’s still a bit down,” Dongmin replied, spewing honesty for once in his explanations. “And I don’t think he wants to come see a piano concert. He’s...I mean, all of this happened because of the piano.”

They both seemed to understand, and Dongmin held back a sigh of relief when he was no longer interrogated about Myungjun’s whereabouts. He wouldn’t have minded being more truthful, but if Myungjun was remaining rooted in a lie, then Dongmin would stick with him in solidarity.

Bin suddenly nudged Jinwoo and murmured, “Go find us a seat?”

Jinwoo gave a start, likely deep in thought still about his boyfriend, but when he glanced between Dongmin and Bin, he pursed his lips. “Right,” he replied. He gave Dongmin a brief nod, perhaps out of respect, before hurrying off to the concert hall and leaving Dongmin alone with Bin.

“I should—” Dongmin started, and at the same time, Bin said, “I thought—”

They both stopped. Bin cracked a smile, then gestured to Dongmin. “You go first,” he offered.

Dongmin’s throat felt dry. He felt pathetic even facing Bin at the moment. His practice had gone terribly wrong and he was still panicking about being up on stage and playing a composition that meant nothing to him.

“I should, um...I should go backstage,” he said.

Bin hesitated for a brief second, then reached out to pat Dongmin’s shoulder. “Good luck. That’s, uh, that’s what I wanted to say. That’s it.”

He patted once more, then his hand lingered. It was a burning touch, a reminder to Dongmin of the immeasurable disappointment he would release upon Bin. He wanted to get away, to shrug Bin off and run, but he found that he couldn’t.

He wanted Bin to touch him forever.

But Bin removed his hand and cleared his throat. His cheeks were red, but he still smiled, as if proud of himself for taking that step. “Well,” he chuckled, “I should probably go find Jinwoo. I hope he got us good seats.”

Dongmin wanted to suggest otherwise. Dongmin wanted to suggest they ditch the concert all together, perhaps run off and enjoy a beer or dinner. But by the time he thought he should say anything, Bin had left, rushing off to join his friend.

Dongmin closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself for the performance to come, and then went his separate way to the backstage area.

It was there he found the director of the concert, the man who put it all together, Seungjoo. Seungjoo had been a friend of his for quite some time, since he had discovered Dongmin’s popularity and kept reigning him back in. It was a friendship based mostly off mutual gain; Seungjoo had more guests at the theater and Dongmin received special opportunities. 

He would use that relationship to his advantage once again, and he grabbed Seungjoo off to a corner away from the other pianists.

“I’m changing my composition,” he whispered feverently to the older man.

Seungjoo blinked in surprise. “You are?” he asked. “This suddenly? We’re about to begin.”

It was embarrassing to ask such a favor, to ask that they differ from the program that he begged them to change in the first place, but Dongmin decided to stay firm in his newest decision.

“I am,” he confirmed, nodding his head. He grabbed his sheet music from the folder he carried and displayed the title to Seungjoo. “When you announce me, please don’t mention  _ 4’33”. _ ”

Seungjoo read the sheet music then smiled. “I’m glad you’re doing Beethoven instead. Nobody here knows what  _ 4’33” _ is. I doubt anybody would be impressed with that one, anyway.”

Dongmin’s stomach turned. He felt uncomfortable. He wished he  _ had _ run when he had the chance to. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

Seungjoo gave him a thumbs up. “I’ll announce it correctly. Thanks for changing it, Dongmin. I like this choice much better. The audience will, too, since they came to hear you  _ play _ , not watch you sit there.”

“Yeah,” Dongmin repeated again, his mouth dry.

He was making a mistake either way. He didn’t just hate  _ 4’33” _ anymore. For once in his life, he hated the piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote binu in this fic?

_**[music](https://youtu.be/-V4bGocFwnE) is the ** _

_**moonlight** _

_**in the gloomy night of life** _

Dongmin stood just beyond the stage, his heart pounding with anxiety. From behind the curtain, he could see Bin and Jinwoo. Jinwoo kept staring down at his phone, waiting for Myungjun’s call that would never come, but Bin’s eyes were up on the stage. The worry in his expression had vanished and was replaced instead by excitement. Pure, unadulterated excitement.

He was excited for  _ 4’33” _ .

Dongmin had to look away in fear he might be sick. He was about to sorely disappoint Bin. He could only imagine how Bin would look during the performance, when he heard the notes flowing through the air, when he heard anything but the silence of the composition he had helped Dongmin to choose.

But should it really matter so much? It wasn’t like Bin would ditch him simply because of a change in composition, right? Bin wasn’t superficial at all. He would stick by Dongmin’s side regardless of what was played up on stage. He would understand, too, the fears presented to Dongmin and the reasoning behind the change.

The only person to be disappointed, then, would be himself.

Dongmin stared down at his feet as the host took the stage to announce him. He wasn’t afraid of Bin’s reaction so much. He was afraid of his own. He was afraid he made the wrong choice in changing to Beethoven. He was afraid to put himself back in mediocrity. If he played this and if he was satisfied, he would forever be stuck playing pieces just as uncreative and uninspired as this one. 

Beethoven was innovative, at least. Beethoven wasn’t terrified of people thinking poorly of him. Beethoven was happy to try new things.

Dongmin was the exact opposite of Beethoven.

He heard the announcer say the name of the composition, and then, “And, just like Beethoven, our very own Lee Dongmin will shine up on stage.”

The audience clapped. He was certain people were relieved he wasn’t playing  _ 4’33” _ , probably unknown to many of them but hated by the few aware enough. He was Lee Dongmin, famous concert pianist. He had traveled the world to play beloved compositions. Anything else from him would be weird and unnatural. 

Yet Dongmin wished he had stuck with his gut and played  _ 4’33” _ .

As he stepped out on stage, the spotlight blinding him, he couldn’t see Bin. He didn’t want to, anyway. He didn’t want to see the pity he knew would likely be on Bin’s face. Bin wouldn’t be disappointed. No, he wouldn’t be angry or betrayed or upset. He would be fine, but he would show pity. Dongmin was nothing but a pathetic, nervous wreck, and Bin knew it.

Dongmin swallowed bile as he bowed to the crowd, who continued their cheer far after he had taken his seat at the bench. It was his re-debut back into society as a concert pianist. His one and only pupil had failed, and so he had come back to claim his rightful throne.

So everyone said, anyway, whispering amongst themselves as Dongmin took a deep breath. He couldn’t hear their muted words, but he knew it was being passed around;  _ Myungjun failed and Dongmin had to step in _ .

He hated them. He hated all of them out there, all of the ones who shared that sentiment, and he hoped the hatred poured out from him as he began to play. Despite the piece being elegant and pretty, Dongmin thought he played it hatefully.

_ How’s that for creativity? _ he berated himself. It was the only piece he ever played at a concert that he absolutely hated. He wanted to burn the notes when he was completed. He wanted to toss them aside right on stage and set them all on fire.

And yet the entire time he pitied himself, he wondered  _ why _ he was pitying himself. Myungjun was at his apartment, likely going over his canceled cards and trying desperately to find a place to live on the meager salary he made from teaching. Bin, too, lived off practically nothing, everything he owned going towards the children he helped. Yet they didn’t often wallow about in self-pity like he did.

He finished the piece to a standing ovation. He wished no one had clapped. He wished everyone would treat him like the fool he knew he was.

He still bowed to the audience, struggling not to run off stage to puke, and he shuffled back into the sidelines. Other pianists waiting for their turn congratulated him. “We’re so glad you’re back!” one of them exclaimed. “You’re so good!”

He brought in the crowds; they benefited from his fame. He had heard that before, and while it used to make him proud, now he was frustrated. He didn’t want them  _ using _ his talents, and that’s what they did; they used him.

If he had played  _ 4’33” _ , they would be upset. He wished he had played  _ 4’33” _ . He wished they would be upset. As it was, he had to shake their hands and bow respectfully and accept all of the praises they bestowed upon him.

After a few minutes, they left him alone, content to look over their own notes and compositions, and Dongmin escaped the oppressive atmosphere to breathe. The lobby was relatively empty with just a few staff lingering around.

A few staff, and Bin.

Dongmin looked at Bin and tried his best to hide the shame he knew was glowing on his face. Bin merely smiled. “Hey.”

Dongmin cleared his throat. “Hello.”

They stood in silence for a second or two, then Bin asked, “So, Beethoven?” 

“I…” Dongmin had no excuse for the sudden composition change. He shrugged his shoulders.

“It was very pretty,” Bin commented, that sweet smile still there. “Honestly, it was. I can see why you switched compositions!”

Dongmin wanted a change in subject. He couldn’t keep rehashing his stupidity. “Where’s Jinwoo?” he asked.

Bin recognized Dongmin’s desperation; the topic change was obvious, but he didn’t say anything about it. He answered the question instead. “He went over to Myungjun’s place. He’s really worried.”

Dongmin sighed. Everything had to fall apart around him, didn’t it? “Myungjun’s at my place,” he muttered. “Tell Jinwoo not to go to his place.”

Bin blinked. He didn’t ask questions, fortunately. He simply took out his phone and sent a quick text message. “He’ll want to go over to your place, then.”

“Tell him not to.”

“Mm.” Bin pocketed his phone. “What’s up with Myungjun?”

“He…” Dongmin had told Myungjun he wouldn’t tell anything, but with Bin standing there, open and willing to listen, it was difficult to keep it all in. Dongmin was used to keeping everything in. He didn’t like to burden others with his own issues, which were probably miniscule in comparison with other issues. He hated feeling like he was nothing but a crybaby, someone who was unable to take care of issues on his own.

And yet Bin awaited answers and awaited the truth. Dongmin didn’t want to stay silent for any longer.

“His mom kicked him out,” he replied, “of his apartment. She was paying for everything, and so I guess she had every right to do so, but now he’s...he’s staying with me. And it sucks seeing him like this, Bin. He’s so upset, and he’s trying hard to find a place on his own, but he’s never held a job before, and I know he works for you but a piano teacher for kids doesn’t make much money unless he chooses to offer private lessons, which I’ve asked him about, but he’s too...he’s  _ happy _ where he is. Which is good, it’s fine, but I don’t know how he’ll live on his own.” Now that he had started, it was hard to stop. “And when his mom came by and smacked him, she said...she said I was going to play a fake composition.”

Bin cocked his head. “Does she mean  _ 4’33”? _ ”

“Yeah.”

“But...that’s not a fake composition. What’s she talking about?”

“Maybe it is.” Dongmin shrugged his shoulders, feeling quite stupid to be rambling on in front of Bin. “She was probably right. I wouldn’t be well-respected if I played that piece. But I...I didn’t want to play Beethoven. I wanted to play  _ 4’33” _ . But she got in my head and I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid I would look up on that stage just sitting there.”

Bin said nothing. Bin simply stared at him, as if urging him to continue, and Dongmin did. He couldn’t stop from talking.

“I practiced it for Myungjun last night. He started crying while I sat there. I felt so useless. I was complicit in his mother’s abuse of him, and now—”

“You were  _ not _ complicit,” Bin interjected, eyes flashing angrily. “Don’t you dare think for a single instant that you’ve ever been anything but kind to Myungjun.”

Dongmin shook his head. He refused to believe that he was innocent in this situation. “I went along with what Mrs. Kim wanted. I pushed Myungjun too hard. I fussed at him when he messed up. I was...I was like her little minion. I was a pawn to her to get at Myungjun, and when I stopped, she came in and I just stood there like an idiot. The worst part,” he took a deep breath, “the worst part is that when she hit him and Myungjun was crying, I held him but all I could think was about  _ 4’33” _ . I only thought of myself when my best friend was suffering. How horrible is that, Bin?”

He didn’t give Bin a chance to say anything else. He just kept going and he felt tears of frustration prickle at his eyes. “I don’t like myself for doing any of this. I wish I could have protected Myungjun better and I wish I didn’t let Mrs. Kim get to me and-and I wish I would’ve played  _ 4’33” _ instead of Beethoven’s  _ Sonata Pathetique _ .” He wiped at his eyes as he felt some of the tears fall, and he choked out, “I’m so disappointed in myself.”

Bin embraced him.

It was so fast that Dongmin didn’t have a chance to react. One minute he stood there crying, and the next he was in Bin’s strong arms. He fit so snugly that he wondered if he was made for Bin’s arms, if he was made to be held like that, and he marveled at the gentle strength Bin could use in order to keep him close.

“Bin,” he protested, trying to pull away, but Bin didn’t release his grip.

“No one’s looking,” Bin murmured. “No one cares, either. Just calm down for a second, okay? Take a moment to relax.”

Such a position was rather pleasant. It was something Dongmin had dreamed about before. He had wanted to curl up in in Bin’s arms and spend a romantic evening together. This wasn’t exactly what he had imagined for them, but he was too tired and too upset to really argue. He closed his eyes and nestled his head in the crook of Bin’s shoulder, trying his best to gulp down his tears. All the while, Bin rubbed a hand up and down his back, somehow warming Dongmin up far more than his suit jacket ever could.

Then Bin whispered, “Let’s go eat dinner at my place.”

Dongmin jerked back. “I...I shouldn’t. Myungjun’s at home, and—”

“Myungjun’s a grown adult. He’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of hours, anyway.” When Dongmin still hesitated, Bin whined, “Come on! I’m not a bad cook, and we can watch a movie or something so you can unwind. It’ll be fun!”

“Is it…” Dongmin sniffled and rubbed at his nose. He needed a tissue. “Is it like a...a date?”

He regretted the words they moment he left his mouth, and in an attempt to save face, he stammered, “Not that...I mean, I don’t care if it’s a date. It’s...it doesn’t matter to me either way, because it’s not like I...I  _ see _ you in that way.”

“See me in what way?” Bin was the one to draw away from Dongmin. His loss of warmth was greatly missed. When Dongmin glanced to him, he noticed Bin was smiling, clearly amused by Dongmin’s fumbled confession. 

The tears had finally stopped falling from his cheeks, though his eyes were still watery. Dongmin ran a sleeve over them and snapped, “Don’t play around with me like this.”

“Sorry. It’s just that you’re really cute.”

Dongmin bit down on his lip. Hope fluttered in his chest, resembling butterflies, and he didn’t have the guts to calm them down. No, not when he wanted this so bad. He wanted Bin to call him cute and to coo over him and to ask him on a date.

He wanted to date Bin.

“You…” he started, but he didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t sure how to properly fuss at Bin for being annoying or else hide his own humiliation of his previous words.

Bin smirked. “What do you want this dinner to be, Dongmin?” he asked. “And you should answer truthfully, because I think I’ll know if you’re lying.”

He looked too good standing there like that, like he knew all of the answers to the entire universe. While he was a tad bit shorter than Dongmin was, his presence seemed larger somehow, and Dongmin felt like cowering. But he didn’t; he, too, stood just as tall, trying to make himself appear put-together, though that was difficult with a runny nose and watery, red eyes.

“I want it to be a dinner,” he replied.

Bin snorted. “Obviously. But should I give you a kiss at the end, or is that not what you want?”

Dongmin’s strong and tough persona melted away in an instant. All he could think of was Bin standing at his door, dropping him off at home, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss onto his lips. All he could think of was how nice Bin’s lips must feel against his own, for if his hug was already so amazing, then a kiss would be even better. All he could think of was how much he liked Bin and just how far he had fallen.

“Yeah.” He nodded his head and managed to blurt out, “That’s what I want.”

The grin Bin gave him was nothing short of beautiful. Bin was truly the most beautiful person Dongmin had ever laid eyes on, and he found himself too captivated with Bin’s smile to even worry about being humiliated.

Bin reached out a hand and said, “People who go on dates always hold hands. So…” He wiggled his fingers, and Dongmin didn’t even hesitate before taking Bin’s hand within his own. 

“That was easier than I expected,” Bin admitted. They didn’t move yet, and Dongmin was satisfied with standing there. He liked to look at Bin. He wished he could look forever. 

“I’m not easy,” he defended himself.

Bin laughed. “I didn’t mean to imply  _ that! _ ” he said. “I just meant...well, I expected a bit more arguing, if I have to be honest. You’re really prideful, Dongmin.”

He didn’t say it like it was a bad thing, but Dongmin knew it  _ was _ a bad thing. That was why he had played  _ Sonata Pathetique _ instead of  _ 4’33”. _ That was why he had pushed Myungjun so hard even when he knew it wouldn’t work. That’s why he pretended his infatuation for Bin was absolutely nothing.

He swallowed thickly, and Bin quickly added, “It’s not bad to be prideful. Look, you  _ should _ be prideful! You’re an amazing guy, and you deserve to argue with anyone who tries to date you.”

“Even you?” Dongmin asked.

Bin chuckled nervously. “Ah, well, I’d prefer it if you didn’t, since I just...I really want to date you.”

Bin was sweet. Dongmin felt himself blush and he looked down at their feet so he wouldn’t be subjected to anymore teasing. “I’m sorry,” he muttered suddenly, and he wondered why he was apologizing. For being prideful? Was that something to apologize for?

“I told you, it isn’t a bad thing,” Bin retorted. He grasped tighter onto Dongmin’s hand. “Don’t apologize.”

Dongmin sighed. He looked over at the doors to the concert hall. He could hear the sounds of another composition being played, the piano notes marvelous to hear, precise and accurate and so, so pretty. He wanted silence in that moment, however. He wanted to only hear the sounds of his love for Bin. He wanted to only hear the sounds of Bin’s love for him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t play  _ 4’33”, _ ” he said. “I wish...I wish I would’ve. I wish I was brave enough to play it.”

“Don’t apologize for that, either. You played something really magnificent, Dongmin. You looked beautiful up on stage, too, and I honestly forgot what you were even supposed to be playing the moment you stood up there. You looked like an angel.”

Dongmin frowned. “Stop it.”

“No, I’m serious! Jinwoo had to nudge me and ask why you weren’t playing  _ 4’33”, _ and that’s the only time I realized the composition was different.” Bin smiled at Dongmin and leaned close to him, eyes sparkling as he stared. “No matter what you played today, you did well.”

Bin was being far kinder to him than Dongmin would ever be to himself. The sentiment was lovely, and Dongmin hummed a bit as he began to walk, pulling Bin alongside him.

Bin giggled. He didn’t release Dongmin’s hand. “Did you accept how wonderful you truly are?”

“I can’t accept that.”

“I’ll make you.”

Dongmin, feeling rather daring, challenged, “I’d like to see you try.”

When he caught a glimpse of Bin’s face, he was pleased to see shock and surprise on his expression, though that quickly turned into mischief. “Alright, then. I’ll do it. I’ll make you accept your talents.”

“How?” It was fun to mess around. After the difficult day Dongmin had just been through, it was fun to relax.

Bin raised his eyebrows. “How? Um...I’ll make you sign posters of yourself! I saw some online when I was researching who you were. I’ll make you sign those and then I’ll hang them up all over my apartment.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll kiss each one of them every single night.”

Dongmin nearly tripped, and as Bin laughed at him, he snapped, “God, Bin, you’re so embarrassing.”

But he didn’t mind it at all. He  _ liked _ it, in fact, and he found himself wishing for more of this. He wanted the teasing and the silly words and flirtatious conversations.

He wanted Bin.

His worries were melting away and all he could think about was how happy he had become in the time span of a few short minutes.

He prayed the happiness would last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not gonna lie, binu is hard to write, which is why this is rlly late

_**[music](https://youtu.be/zVN6x-1L8Dg) produces** _

_**a kind of pleasure** _

_**which human nature cannot do without** _

Dongmin had been to Bin’s place a number of times in order to eat lunch and discuss music, but never had he been on a date to Bin’s apartment. A date changed things; it made it all seem much more drastic, and Dongmin found himself wondering how he ought to be acting around Bin. He was already a bit humiliated from his crying and breakdown, and coming back from that would be rough.

Fortunately, Bin didn’t mention the tears at all. He welcomed Dongmin into his home with little fanfare, keeping up the casual relationship Dongmin had come to cherish.

“What sounds good for dinner?” Bin asked. He took Dongmin’s suit jacket for him and hung it up, then gestured further into the apartment. “I can make japchae? Or a soup, or something.”

“Whatever’s easiest,” Dongmin responded. He rolled up the sleeves to his dress shirt and added, “I can help with whatever it is.”

Bin frowned, eyebrows pinched together as if offended by Dongmin’s lackluster response. “I didn’t ask you on a date to make whatever I found  _ easy _ ,” he responded. “What sort of guy would that make me?” He opened a few cabinets to look through at the food choices and said, “I’ll make japchae. Want a snack while we wait?”

“Oh, no. That’s fine.” Dongmin, standing awkwardly in the kitchen, asked, “How can I help?”

Bin grabbed some noodles from his pantry and shot Dongmin a kind smile. “Just keep talking to me! That’ll make me move faster, honestly.”

“Part of me doubts it will.” Dongmin leaned against the wall and watched Bin work. His hands kept itching to take control, or to at least help in the cooking. Only Myungjun had cooked for him before, and Myungjun was a friend he grew up with so it made far more sense. Bin was only someone he met earlier in the year, someone he truly liked. He  _ shouldn’t _ be letting Bin cook for him.

Bin dumped the noodles into a pot of water and assured Dongmin, “Promise, I’m already moving faster. Look how fast I’m moving, Dongmin!”

“You’d move faster with help.” Before Bin could say anything else, Dongmin pushed himself off the wall and moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Let me chop some vegetables, at least.”

“I’ve got it!”

“If I wait for you to chop everything and cook the meat and boil the noodles, it’ll take too long, and I’m already getting pretty hungry.” Dongmin wiped his hands on Bin’s kitchen towel and shot him a good-natured glare. “Let me help.”

Bin hesitated for a few seconds. He looked back at his pot of boiling water, then over to the vegetables he had been pulling from the fridge. Finally, though, he sighed and laid the vegetables out on the counter. “Alright,” he conceded, nodding his head. “One day, though, I’ll cook you a full meal and you are not supposed to lift a finger.

“I fully await that day,” Dongmin teased as he grabbed a cutting board and a knife.

They prepared the food in relative silence for a bit. Dongmin didn’t mind the quiet. He was able to think things through and figure out his own complicated feelings that were brewing within his chest. He  _ liked _ Bin. He really liked Bin. He had liked Bin for quite some time now, though he tried to stifle those feelings in fear they would lead to nothing but heartache. 

Bin liked  _ him _ now. Bin wanted to date him and cook him food and it was overwhelming. It was a dream come true, really; or it would be if Dongmin’s mind wasn’t inundated with thoughts of poor Myungjun and of  _ 4’33” _ and of his challenging career. He had so much to worry about, and it was with panic that he realized Bin wasn’t even at the top of his list of  _ things I need to worry about today _ . In fact, Bin was at the bottom.

Why wasn’t he worried about Bin and this date?

He chopped the vegetables quickly, trying to push aside all other concerns. He wanted to worry about Bin. He wanted to drown himself in confusion as to Bin’s feelings, and  _ only _ Bin’s feelings. He didn’t want to think about Myungjun or  _ 4’33” _ or his career. He wanted to focus on Bin.

Suddenly, Bin touched his shoulder. Dongmin jumped and dropped the knife, letting it clatter against the countertop. When he spun around, Bin stood right behind him, a big, goofy smile on his face. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dongmin took a deep breath. “It’s alright,” he responded, grabbing the knife again. “Sorry for panicking.”

“It’s fine. Just thought you heard me. I said your name a few times.”

Guilt washed over Dongmin. Now he wasn’t even paying attention to his date. That was wonderful. “I should apologize,” he muttered, though he already had. “I’ve just...I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”

“Myungjun?” Bin guessed.

Dongmin nodded his head. “And...everything else. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask me out on a date when I can’t even keep my own head on my shoulders.”

Bin pursed his lips and gave a small hum, then he put a hand on Dongmin’s chin and swiveled his head around, this way and that way, as if searching for something. When he finished his odd examination, he announced, “Your head is securely attached.”

Dongmin stared at him. Bin let his fingers drop, but Dongmin found he quite missed the warmth on his skin.

When Dongmin remained silent, Bin blushed and offered a small, embarrassed grin. “Sorry. I was just messing around.”

Dongmin wasn’t thinking of Myungjun or of  _ 4’33” _ or of his career. All he thought of was Bin.

“You might need to look again,” he stated, and he tapped at his neck. “It might be about ready to fall off.”

The embarrassment on Bin’s face was wiped away. His grin this time was big and genuine, and it was with enthusiasm that he went back to his examination. “Hmm,” he hummed again, and Dongmin laughed this time, entertained by Bin’s antics. When Bin noticed he got a laugh, he continued, a bit louder, and finished with a, “Still secure, Mr. Dongmin!”

“Will it be falling off anytime soon?” Dongmin asked, trying to keep Bin’s hand in place, trying to stall and linger and allow himself to remain in Bin’s embrace for as long as possible.

“To my knowledge, no. It looks like your head will remain in place for a long, long time.”

While Dongmin struggled to control his laughter, Bin smiled at him. “So,” he started, much more confident than he had been, “have you got your mind focused on this date and  _ only _ this date?”

Dongmin nodded his head. “I have.” He had texted Myungjun in the car to let him know the plans for the evening and he had already performed at the concert. There was nothing else to do except enjoy his date with Bin. “Sorry,” he apologized for the third time. “I’m being annoying.”

“Nope.” Bin pouted and shook his head. “You aren’t annoying.  _ Never _ annoying, trust me. I’d let you know if you were annoying, don’t you think?”

Dongmin studied Bin for a second and then shrugged his shoulders. “I actually don’t know. You never told me off when I was clearly horrible to Myungjun.”

“You weren’t horrible at all, clearly or otherwise.” Bin tapped Dongmin’s cheek, poking it lightly as if enjoying the plush of skin. 

“I was, though.”

“You  _ weren’t _ .” Bin snorted as he turned back to the food he was cooking. “Myungjun talked about you a lot. Sometimes he complained; you’re overbearing, apparently, and socially awkward, which I think is cute, but most of the time he had nothing but good things to say.  _ Dongmin let me sleep at his place, he’s really nice _ , he would say.  _ Dongmin bought me lunch today _ , or  _ I’m not even showing up to practice and Dongmin isn’t badgering me _ , and then the most important one was  _ Dongmin really cares for me _ .”

Dongmin blushed. He felt Bin was lying; Myungjun was funny and genuine, but there was no way he complimented Dongmin so much. Dongmin didn’t deserve those compliments, and Myungjun was likely aware of that fact. “He didn’t say any of that,” Dongmin responded weakly.

“He  _ did _ . I have no reason to lie to you. I  _ wouldn’t _ lie to you, either. I’m a very truthful person and I see no point in lying.”

Bin had been rather truthful up until this point. He never told Dongmin off and never made Dongmin feel like he was being scolded or judged, but he had always asked questions and made clear his misunderstandings. He didn’t  _ lie _ .

Which meant that Myungjun had indeed spoke highly of him. Myungjun saw him as a good person despite all of his flaws.

Dongmin had to force himself not to smile. He was overjoyed with the knowledge that Myungjun had come to like him and that Bin actually found him  _ cute _ . This night was turning out far better than he ever expected, and Dongmin went back to his vegetables, chopping them slowly as he thought.

Bin spoke again. “You’re quiet. Are you thinking?”

“Not overthinking this time,” Dongmin replied. “Just...just normal thinking. Just thinking about my life.”

“What about your life?”

“It’s...it’s overwhelming, but things are turning out fine.”

Bin shot him a smug grin. “Is it because I asked you out on a date?” he asked, tone teasing and light. “Is it all turning out fine now because of me?”

“You’re getting real haughty,” Dongmin commented, and Bin laughed. His laughter was beautiful, high-pitched and breathy. Dongmin longed to hear him laugh more, but then they both turned back to their cooking.

Bin hummed as he cooked. Dongmin didn’t recognize the songs, even when Bin pointed at him as if urging him to join in. With a sigh, Bin asked, “Do you not listen to popular music, Dongmin?”

“I’ve been so caught up in compositions that I just have no time for new music.”

“What do you listen to in the car?”

“I have a classical music station.”

Bin made a face. “And at home, I guess it’s also classical music?”

“Mostly. Sometimes — rarely, but sometimes — I like to listen to the oldies. Myungjun plays a lot of trot music and don't tell him, but I listen to his CDs when he leaves them at my place.”

Bin laughed again. Dongmin felt pleased that he was able to make Bin laugh so often, and he tried not to puff out in pride. 

He finished the vegetables and passed them along to Bin, who didn’t hesitate to pile them into his pan. The smell was heavenly now and Dongmin couldn’t stop from hovering just over Bin’s shoulder, excitedly looking at the food as it was being cooked.

Bin kept lightly shoving at him, laughing all the while, and he would say, “Not too much longer to wait, Dongmin, don’t you worry!”

“I’m not worried. Just hungry.” Dongmin backed off a little bit, just so Bin could combine a few things together. “I barely ate lunch today because I was stressing out a bit too much.” He had tried to stomach something, but the sandwich he made tasted like cardboard in his mouth. It was dry and bland, and he could only swallow two bites before he had to toss the entire thing. Now that he had played and worried himself into a crying fit, he found he felt much lighter and  _ much _ hungrier. “And this smells  _ really _ good. I didn’t know you could cook this well.”

“I can cook and play the violin and semi-successfully run my own business.” Bin glanced over at him and gave a quick wink. “I’m your dream man.”

Dongmin rolled his eyes, though he knew a blush had come over his face. “You’re a pain in my side, I think.”

“Really?” Bin hummed lightly as he grabbed two bowls from one of his cabinets. “See, I never got that impression from you, not really. It always seemed like I was the special star in your life.”

Giggling, Dongmin responded, “Now you’re just making up stupid lies.”

“As long as you laugh at them, that’s all that matters.” Bin smiled warmly before he continued to load the bowls with food. “Your laugh is really cute.”

Bin knew how to make him feel like the only man in the entire world. Dongmin felt freer than he had in weeks. He felt happier than he had in weeks, too. His entire body was warm with infatuation and with joy, and he owed it all to Bin. Bin was keeping him grounded; Bin was keeping him sane.

Bin was keeping him wrapped up in such affection that Dongmin was certain he was living out some wild dream.

It was no dream, he reminded himself as he sat at Bin’s small dining room table. Even as Bin produced two lit candles and a small, fake flower in a vase, even as Bin turned off a few lamps to dim the lights and turned on some pretty classical music, Dongmin had to remind himself that this was all happening.

“It’s romantic,” he commented as Bin sat across from him.

Bin grinned, his crooked smile so charming and delightful. “I wanted to make sure you got the full experience of a first date.”

Dongmin played with the fake flower and asked, “A full experience?”

“Yeah. I mean, obviously that’s fake, so next time I’ll get a real one.” Bin sipped at his wine and continued, “But I know you, uh...you have money.”

“Yes. I have money.” Dongmin cocked his head when Bin didn’t continue. “Wait, are you nervous because I have more money than you?”

Bin shook his head hurriedly. “Not—not really! I mean, not exactly. It’s not that I’m nervous you’re richer, even though you are, it’s that...I mean, you’re probably used to things being a bit more extravagant.” 

“I’ve never been on a date before,” Dongmin admitted. “So this is my first experience, and it’s a  _ great _ experience.” He smiled at Bin and added, “Seriously. It’s perfect.”

“Isn’t it...I dunno, a bit cheesy?”

“I like cheesy,” Dongmin responded with a laugh. “That’s how it is in all those romance movies, isn’t it? A little cheesy and filled to the brim with cliches, but that’s how I imagined my first date going.” 

This actually fit the criteria of many of his favorite romance movies. Quite a few of them had a first date in a small apartment, with an overlook of the city from a small window, with lights from the outside spilling into the space and creating patterns across the walls. Many more of them had candlelit dinners and wine and flowers.

None of them had Moon Bin, and for that Dongmin was grateful. It meant he could be selfish and keep Bin all to himself.

Bin sighed in relief, fueled by Dongmin’s easy acceptance. “Good. I like cheesy, too. I mean, it’s why I asked you out.”

“You’re mouthy today,” Dongmin snapped, and Bin grinned.

“It’s easy to be mouthy around you. You’re fun to tease. My last boyfriend wasn’t fun at  _ all _ . He was more uptight than you are, and when he did get a joke, he would spend a while lecturing me on all the ways I could’ve told it differently.”

“How many boyfriends have you had?” Dongmin asked. He almost added on  _ before me _ , but they weren’t together yet; it would be ridiculous to ask such a thing on their first date. Really, though, asking that question in general was something stupid, and so before Bin could say anything, Dongmin turned down to his food and muttered, “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask. It’s a little intrusive.”

As he shoveled food into his mouth to save himself from humiliation, Bin quickly said, “No, it’s fine! I mean, you told me about your dating life, so it’s only fair, right?” He, too, took a bite of his japchae and answered, “Three, plus one girlfriend. That was in high school, before I had myself figured out, so it didn’t last very long. The first boyfriend was a two-month relationship. The second boyfriend was a four-month relationship. The last boyfriend was with me for about two years, more or less. We talked about moving in together, but I kept refusing.”

“Why?” Dongmin asked. Now that he knew Bin’s past wasn’t off-limits, he felt he could continue to interrogate his friend.

“Um...I’m not sure. I told him I loved him, but I think it was always a lie. It wasn’t like he was horrible or anything, I just never really saw us lasting. If we moved in together, it would be more binding, you know? So I kept telling him I wasn’t ready, and we finally broke up. It was amicable, though. He wasn’t too torn up about it.”

Dongmin sipped at his wine. “And you weren’t either, I presume?”

“Of course not!” Bin gave a small scoff and gestured toward Dongmin. “Because now I get to date you.”

Dongmin nearly choked on his drink and Bin chuckled in amusement.

The rest of dinner passed smoothly. Dongmin found himself so loosened up by the end that he had completely forgotten about the stress of his life outside of Bin’s small apartment. All he wanted to do was indulge himself a bit more in the date, and a bit more in Bin.

“Leaving will be difficult,” he commented as he helped Bin to clean the dishes. “I mean, I’m happy to see Myungjun and help him out, but it’s not as relaxing at my place as it is over here.”

“You could stay over,” Bin suggested.

Dongmin blushed and shook his head wildly, keeping his eyes trained solely on the glass he was drying. “N-No, I don’t...I think it’s best if we wait for—”

“I’m kidding!” Bin exclaimed. “I wouldn’t ever pressure you like that. We’ll take our time. I’ll just have to be the best boyfriend ever!”

He paused where he was, hand positioned over the next dish to dry, and he asked, “Boyfriend?”

Bin, too, hesitated. “Well...in the future, if you still like me, I’d...like to call you my boyfriend.”

Dongmin found he quite liked the term applied to Bin.  _ My boyfriend, Bin _ , he could introduce, and then he could hear Bin say the same thing:  _ My boyfriend, Dongmin _ . It filled him with such a giddy excitement that he found it impossible to wipe the grin off of his face. He couldn’t say anything, a little too overwhelmed with the concept to speak, but Bin seemed to notice.

“Is that a yes?”

Dongmin nodded his head and tried his best to stop smiling like an idiot. His lips were difficult to control, however, and he stood there, mute and happy.

Bin smiled back, looking nothing short of beautiful, and murmured, “Good.”

Dongmin had his first date and his first soon-to-be-boyfriend, and he knew nothing could ever come  _ close _ to making him so happy ever again.

Music be damned; all he needed was Bin.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.
> 
> pls teach me binu


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're welcome, binu fans

_**If[music](https://youtu.be/zkIVJVwAA4o) be ** _

_**the food of love** _

_**play on.** _

When Bin figured out that Dongmin had never seen  _ Lord of the Rings _ , he was appalled.

“These are the  _ best _ fantasy movies of all time!” Bin had exclaimed when Dongmin came to visit him at the school (his excuse had been, “I was just dropping Myungjun off,” but in reality he really wanted to see Bin). “How on earth could you have never seen  _ Lord of the Rings? _ ”

Dongmin offered him an apologetic smile, though it seemed that Bin was too enthralled with Dongmin’s lack of culture to accept it. “I watch other movies,” Dongmin promised. “Mostly Korean ones, though. I don’t watch the Western ones often.”

“Apparently not.” Bin huffed and moved his chair over a little bit, gesturing at his laptop. “Come here. I’ll show you some pictures from  _ Lord of the Rings. _ ”

“I’ve seen pictures,” Dongmin assured him, but Bin glared at him and Dongmin saw he had no choice but to walk over and see what Bin was pointing out.

He remained loyal to this crazy man, and he couldn’t help but hide his laughter as Bin pulled up multiple pictures of his favorite characters (which seemed to be a toss up between the human man with a bear and the elf man with the long hair). He mimed certain actions they did, such as putting the ring on his finger (a plot point Dongmin  _ was _ aware of) and shooting arrows (which, apparently, was something the elf man did often). 

Finally, after the entire story was already spoiled, Dongmin suggested, “Why don’t we watch the movies for our second date, then?” 

Bin paused in his passionate speech about how the flying birds could  _ not _ just pick up the ring-keeper and take him to some mountain because that would ruin the entire purpose of the movie and also it wouldn’t work because they still had an army to defeat and the army could shoot down birds — or something like that. Dongmin’s mind was muddled with all the information Bin was giving him.

“Really?” Bin asked, eyes lit up with excitement. “This can be our second date?”

Dongmin hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it. “Sure! We can watch them at my place; I have a large television.”

“I can bring food!” Bin offered. “Like maybe we can have pizza. Does pizza sound good to you?”

Dongmin nodded his head. “It sounds delicious.” His nerves jittered inside of him. He was about to have a second date with the most gorgeous man in existence, and even if they watched some horrible fantasy flick, at least they would be together.

Bin, a grin plastered upon his face, added, “I’ll bring some drinks over, too, and some desserts, and maybe we should get ingredients to make dinner. The movies are long, and if we’re going to watch all three of them, then we might be there for a while.”

He had marathoned a show with Myungjun once, and that had lasted well into the night. His eyes glazed over after only a couple of hours, and so he wondered how bad  _ this _ would be. “I might have to wear my glasses, then,” he commented.

Bin gasped. “You wear  _ glasses? _ ”

“I usually wear contacts, but when I’m watching something for that long, I need glasses.”

“Oh my god.” Bin practically squealed, his voice loud with exuberance. “I never thought about it before, but you’d look  _ super _ cute in glasses!” He rifled around on his desk for a few seconds before grabbing onto his forgotten pair and thrusting it out to Dongmin. “Put these on!”

Dongmin looked over the design of the glasses and pursed his lips. “They aren’t really my style,” he pointed out. “Too bulky in the frames.”

“Please?” Bin begged, but Dongmin remained steadfast. 

He smiled as he shook his head, once again denying Bin’s request, and when the other man began to pout, Dongmin said, “It will be a surprise when you see me. Wouldn’t you rather it be a surprise?”

“I guess,” Bin moaned as if Dongmin was asking him to perform some sort of horrible task. “But I’d rather have the surprise sooner than later. When are you free?”

If it was an all-day thing, Dongmin needed to find a day when neither have them had commitments. Sundays usually worked, and so he asked, “This coming Sunday?”

“You mean I have to wait four days to see you in glasses?” Bin slumped over in his chair. “This is awful.”

“Oh, come on,” Dongmin fussed with a small giggle. “I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it just fine.”

Bin, however, shook his head frantically. “Now that I know I can’t think of anything else. This is going to be the only thing on my mind for four days.”

“I don’t mind being the only thing on your mind,” Dongmin said, feeling a little bold. When Bin glared at him, Dongmin had to laugh again, and he apologized, “Sorry, sorry, that was really stupid of me to say.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Bin responded, previous pouting forgotten. “You’re  _ never _ stupid. And you don’t say stupid things, either. You, Dongmin, are incredibly intelligent and well-spoken and if I didn’t have to work, I’d scoop you up right now and take you home for that date.”

Dongmin felt his cheeks turn red. He quickly shuffled his feet and hid his face so Bin would be none the wiser. “Well,” he muttered, “four days.”

“Right. Four days.” Bin sighed. “We’ll have to get Myungjun out of your house all day, then. Maybe he can hang out with Jinwoo?”

“If he’s not still avoiding Jinwoo, sure.” Dongmin smiled. “Don’t worry, though. He’ll leave if I ask him to.”

Bin gave a small hum, then looked up at Dongmin. “So he  _ has _ been avoiding Jinwoo? Jinwoo kept telling me that he didn’t really respond much to the texts he was sending and I told him Myungjun was likely just very busy, but I assumed he was avoiding Jinwoo. Myungjun doesn’t seem like the sort to like confrontation.”

“He hates it.”

“You know Jinwoo wouldn’t cause anything like that.”

“Oh, I know.” Dongmin sighed and leaned up against Bin’s desk. “But I think  _ he _ believes he’s created an issue. He was scared to contact Jinwoo at first because he didn’t want to seem incompetent to someone he really liked, and he feels incompetent right now. And now enough time has passed that it  _ would _ be a confrontation, however small, when they meet up. Jinwoo would ask why Myungjun hasn’t been talking to him, and Jun says he doesn’t want to face the possibility of Jinwoo being even slightly frustrated with him.”

“That’s why Myungjun runs away whenever Jinwoo tries to approach him,” Bin chuckled. “Ah, well, tell him to stop being an idiot! In a nicer way, I mean. Jinwoo isn’t angry with him. He’s just worried.”

“I told that to Myungjun. He’s just…” Dongmin waved a hand in the air, as if that explained all of the issues wrong with poor Myungjun. Fortunately, Bin seemed to understand, and he smiled a bit in agreement.

“Hopefully they’ll make up before Sunday, because if I don’t get to see you in glasses and eating pizza with me on your couch, I think I’ll scream.”

Dongmin could only imagine such a scene. He figured it would be extremely domestic. He could curl into Bin’s arm and Bin would keep staring at him with infatuation shining in his eyes. They could eat pizza together and laugh as they picked off their least favorite toppings, and they would clink their beer together and watch the stupid fantasy movie Bin loved so much.

Then, at the end of the night, they would kiss.

It was going to be perfect, and so Dongmin nodded his head and said, confidently, “I’ll make them make up, trust me.”

He would do anything to go on that lovely second date.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

Convincing Myungjun to talk to Jinwoo again was an easier feat than Dongmin had assumed it would be. He had prepared himself for a long lecture, for Myungjun’s tears and frustrations, but all it amounted to was a five minute talk that began with, “You should probably contact Jinwoo.”

Myungjun had sighed, and Dongmin steeled himself. All that came, though, was a quiet, “I know.”

“And you…” Dongmin trailed off. He hadn’t expected that. He cleared his throat, realizing that his grand speech left no room for any sort of differing template, and now he was stuck and left up to his own miserable communication skills. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Myungjun shrugged his shoulders, not yet looking away from Dongmin’s computer. Apartments were listed up on some website, with prices that were cheap and interiors that were abysmal. “Should I call him today, you think?”

Dongmin blinked. It was  _ shockingly _ easy. “Sure. Maybe. Just explain things. Also set up a date for Sunday, if you don’t mind. Bin is coming over.”

“To do the hanky-pank?” When Dongmin stared at Myungjun in confusion, Myungjun slapped his own hand and whispered, “You know?”

“Oh, gross. Don’t call it that. And  _ no _ .” Dongmin scoffed and sat on Myungjun’s bed. “We’re watching  _ Lord of the Rings _ .”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“You’ll fall asleep.” Myungjun clicked one of the apartments. Dongmin willed himself not to toss the computer out of the room. He definitely didn’t want Myungjun to live  _ there _ . It wasn’t nearly good enough for his best friend.

“I...I won’t fall asleep. Jun, don’t even look at those apartments. They look hideous.” 

Myungjun pouted, and he didn’t exit the screen he was on. “This is all I can afford,” he mumbled. And it was. Myungjun made even less money than Bin, somehow, and though he had asked for extra hours, Bin rejected him because there wasn’t enough money to pay him for his time.

Dongmin didn’t like the fact that his best friend was going to live in near-poverty because of his career decisions. “Maybe you should look into a part-time job. You could probably teach students piano — students with  _ money _ . They could pay you well.”

“I might,” Myungjun replied. “I’ll think about it. I know that kid who used to live beside me wanted to learn to play the piano. Maybe I’ll see if his parents would be willing to stick him in lessons.” He closed the browser he was on, allowing Dongmin to breathe a little easier, and asked, “So you want me and Jinwoo to go out on a date so you can bring Binnie here, right?”

“That’s right.”

Myungjun grabbed his phone and gave Dongmin a shaky smile. “I’d best try and make things right, then.”

Fortunately for both of them, the conversation between Myungjun and Jinwoo had gone very well. Myungjun said very little about it, but Bin called Dongmin the next day to excitedly discuss the short phone call. “Jinwoo says that  _ Myungjun _ said that he’s sorry for being distant, but Jinwoo told him not to be sorry, that it was fine and he understood. Myungjun told him the truth, and even though he told Jinwoo they shouldn’t move in together, Jinwoo’s already trying to change his mind. Isn’t that cute?”

Dongmin was, once again, relieved. He smiled, but said, “I want Myungjun to be financially independent, though. I’m trying to convince him to take on a second job. He just doesn’t want anything to interfere with his  _ current _ job.”

“That’s sweet!” Bin cooed. “He’s really loyal to the school. Lots of teachers have been filtering in and out. I can’t get anyone to stay, except for him and Jinwoo.”

Worry gripped at Dongmin’s chest. He was proud of Myungjun for branching out on his own and for doing something that he truly wanted to do, but at the same time he knew Myungjun was having problems with money. The school didn’t really help at all with that, and if Myungjun wanted to remain afloat, he desperately needed something else.

But Bin was quick to resolve Dongmin of all worries. “They’re going on a date Sunday.”

“Oh, thank god,” Dongmin sighed, and Bin laughed.

Dongmin knew it would be useless now to think of Myungjun’s future. Myungjun was a grown man, older than even Dongmin was, and would likely figure things out for himself. Dongmin needed to focus on himself for the time being, and that meant focusing on his upcoming date with Bin.

He made sure his apartment was as clean as possible, with candles lit and plants watered. He was anticipating the date, and had put on his glasses early in the morning, to which Myungjun gave him a knowing smile.

“Bin likes glasses?” Myungjun questioned.

Dongmin, face a brilliant red, had worked on shoving his best friend out of the apartment. “Go with Jinwoo,” he complained. “Stop annoying me.”

Myungjun laughed the entire way out, but the silence he left in his stead was a little overwhelming. Dongmin had half a mind to text Bin and invite him over early, but he didn’t want to seem desperate, so he sat and waited.

Once noon rolled around, the doorbell rang, and Dongmin shot up from the couch. He looked over the living room, then at the kitchen, and before answering the door, he checked his appearance in his hallway mirror. His hair was free of product, though nicely combed down, and his glasses had not a single smudge on them.

“Alright,” he whispered to himself, and he opened the door, a soft smile on his face as he looked over at Bin.

Bin wore comfortable clothes, as he always did, and his hair was left unstyled, as it always was. The normalcy of his dress comforted Dongmin, but then he looked up at Bin’s face.

Eyes were shining bright in amazement and a grin was plastered onto his face as if it would never leave again. Dongmin blinked, and said, “Um, hi, Bin.”

In response, Bin shifted the pizza in his hands and leaned forward.

Then, he kissed Dongmin.

It was such a sudden kiss that Dongmin’s mind hardly had the chance to process anything. Exclamations scrolled through his head, each one louder than the last, a repeated chant of,  _ what what what what WHAT WHAT WHAT. _ Dongmin had frozen where he was, his lips still and his face red, and when Bin drew back, he could only stammer out what his mind had thought: “Wha-What?”

Bin grinned, though this was a sheepish smile, and he apologized. “Sorry. I just...you just were...god, you look so cute in glasses.”

Dongmin brought a hand up to feel at his frames. He knew he looked  _ okay _ in glasses (and he knew he had chosen the wired-frame ones because, as Myungjun claimed, “The frames on these don’t hide your pretty face.”) and he knew Bin had never seen him before in glasses, but he had not expected such a response.

He swallowed thickly, still trying his best to process what exactly had happened, and in his hesitation, Bin stepped inside. “I brought pizza,” Bin said, stating the obvious. “And the movies. Also some beer.” He held up a hand, where a bag was dangling. “Where can I put these?”

“Um,” said Dongmin, trying his best to snap out of the little daze he was in.

Bin waited for a few seconds before grinning. “Kitchen?” he asked, and Dongmin nodded his head frantically. 

As Bin disappeared into his apartment, Dongmin closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He had to get himself composed. Even if Bin just gave him his first kiss on the threshold of his apartment, he couldn’t act like some sort of lovesick fool. He would continue with the date as if nothing happened.

_ Composed _ , he reminded himself, following Bin into the kitchen.

Bin was laying out plates and napkins for their pizza, which both looked and smelled delicious. “Hey,” Bin said, a knowing smile on his face as he gestured at the food. “I hope you like this brand. It was on the way to your place, so I was able to stop in really quick and grab everything.” He then held up his movies, a nice DVD set with a fantastical cover to go along with it. “And here’s  _ Lord of the Rings! _ You’ll love these, even if we might be up super late watching them.”

“Oh,” Dongmin said, his voice a little high-pitched. He cleared his throat and then tried again. “Alright.”

Bin stared at him for a few seconds, as if trying his best to decipher Dongmin’s mood. He seemed to assume that the kiss was off-limits from any conversation, so he continued, “And I thought we can either go shopping for ingredients to make dinner, or I can just order delivery. Whichever one sounds good with you.”

The option for  _ ingredients _ sounded best with Dongmin. He quite liked the idea of walking down the store aisles with Bin, arguing over which type of flour would be best to buy. They could try samples, perhaps, and Bin would feed him those samples with a gentle hand. They could hold a hand basket together, or maybe push a cart together, hands overlapping and fingers itching to wrap around each other.

And it was in that moment, with poor Bin awaiting some sort of answer, that Dongmin lost his composure completely. 

“I want another kiss,” he blurted out, face red with embarrassment.

Bin’s eyes widened. “A...another…?” he trailed off, wetting his lips with his tongue. Dongmin watched every single movement, absolutely enthralled, but also regretting he had ever said such a thing.

There was no going back now. He had already requested another kiss, and he couldn’t take back his words. The only thing left to do was to go forward.

So, he nodded his head, and added, “It was...it was my first one. I want to actually kiss back.”

“A do-over, then?” Bin asked him.

Dongmin nodded again.

Bin laughed lightly and moved forward. “I won’t say no to kissing you again,” he murmured, cupping Dongmin’s cheeks in his hands. “In fact, I won’t say no to kissing you for the rest of the day, if you’d be fine with that.”

Dongmin, heat filling even his heart, couldn’t help but smile up at Bin. “I’m fine with it,” he assured Bin.

The second kiss was far better, and Dongmin, kissing back and holding onto Bin, decided he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ binu fans: hi how do u like me now

_**The[music](https://youtu.be/iEBX_ouEw1I) is not** _

_**in the notes,** _

_**but in the silence between.** _

Things with Bin were going exceedingly well. Their dates were usually casual and relaxed, and Dongmin never felt as if he had to be someone different around Bin. He could talk about his favorite compositions, about his love for the Classical period of music, about how Bach’s son was the better of the two Bach’s, and about how the only 20th century composer he actually  _ loved _ was Godowsky. Bin would join the conversation with ease, all of the names and compositions familiar enough to him.

He admitted to Dongmin once that he religiously spent time researching as many piano pieces as he could in an effort to impress Bin, but still found himself lacking. “I know violin well enough,” he said, “and a lot of orchestral pieces are ingrained in my mind from being in orchestra when I was in school, but I never really went into depth with the piano.”

So Dongmin decided to teach him. Often times, if their date began at Dongmin’s house, Dongmin would take to his piano and show off the compositions he knew by heart. He would talk about the lives of certain composers, and explain what he personally thought of them.

Bin listened to all of it with no complaints. Sometimes Dongmin felt bad and would ask, “Are you sure this isn’t boring you?”

Bin would giggle, “Nothing you say could ever bore me. I like to hear you talk.”

It must be true, or else Bin wouldn’t put up with it. He would’ve left a long time ago, too overwhelmed with Dongmin’s obsessive passion for the piano, but instead he stayed. He would talk about the violin, too, and he showed Dongmin how he was able to put together his own compositions based on popular songs he liked. To Bin, the fun of a musical instrument was piecing together familiar music and playing it solely on the violin. He was able to turn pop songs into a classical masterpiece. Rap was more tricky, but he did his best for those. There was trot, and ballads, and anything else that he found even remotely interesting. He had a fine ear for music, and it definitely showed.

The days where he dated Bin were the happiest days of Dongmin’s life, but he found himself growing more and more concerned for poor Myungjun.

They went over Myungjun’s finances almost daily. Myungjun never had to worry about his income before, and so he had never paid his finances any attention. Now that he was in a position where he was forced to, he turned to Dongmin for assistance.

Seated at Dongmin’s dining room table, with the pretty lights shining from above and Dongmin in his glasses once again (which he wore more often because Bin told him how cute he looked), Dongmin realized Myungjun wasn’t earning as much money as he was a few weeks prior.

“Hold on,” he muttered, circling the number with his pencil and turning to Myungjun’s older pay stubs. “What’s this?”

Myungjun glanced over. He bit down on his bottom lip briefly and mumbled, “My current pay rate.”

“Why aren’t you earning the wage agreed upon?”

“Um.” Myungjun glanced away from the paper, and Dongmin’s chest seized up as he thought of the implications this stupid number had to offer.

It meant Bin, Dongmin’s sweet and loving and perfect boyfriend, had not paid Myungjun the correct amount.

That couldn’t be accurate, though. That had to be a mistake. Bin had never mentioned deducting pay from Myungjun’s wage. Bin  _ wouldn’t  _ deduct pay from Myungjun’s wage, because he knew Myungjun already earned next to nothing as it was. With this amount, he would  _ never _ make any of his payments.

“Did you...not go to work full-time?” Dongmin asked, struggling to find a reason behind the sudden change. “Did you skip some shifts? Did you return to part-time work?” He knew, though, all of those would receive a negative answer. He was aware of Myungjun’s schedule, for they lived together. He knew when Myungjun left and when Myungjun returned, and he knew that Myungjun hadn’t skipped any of his shifts, nor had he switched to part-time work instead.

“It’s fine,” Myungjun said. “Can we just go over the rest of what I have?”

“No, because I want to know why you’re not earning as much.” Dongmin glanced over at his friend, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Realization struck, and Dongmin said, “You  _ know _ why you aren’t being paid your usual amount, don’t you?”

“Let’s just drop it.”

Dongmin shook his head. He sat forward in his chair and pointed at the papers. “This, Myungjun, is  _ nothing _ . You’ll never make it at this rate! And is this what you want? You want to be stuck living with me and working hard and barely making enough to contribute to groceries?”

Myungjun ran his fingers through his hair, visibly frustrated with the entire conversation. “I just...I accepted this, okay?”

“You accepted  _ what? _ ”

“Bin needed to...he needed to make cuts. He was super apologetic about it, but the school isn’t doing well right now and he just...he can’t afford to pay me.” Myungjun swallowed nervously and added, “He’s not making  _ anything _ , if it makes you feel better. It isn’t like he’s taking all of the money; he just...there’s no money coming in. The last big donors he had moved, and they won’t be sending in their donations anymore. It’s all small stuff now, and that goes straight to  _ our _ paychecks.”

Dongmin tried his best to steel himself to ask more questions, but he found the chaos and confusion growing rapidly inside his mind. Bin —  _ his _ Bin,  _ his _ boyfriend — had silently deducted money from Myungjun’s wage. He  _ knew _ Myungjun’s situation was bad, and yet he still took advantage of a sweet employee. He used Myungjun. He took Myungjun’s hard work and long hours and had given him such a measly amount.

“I could pay an electricity bill with this,” Dongmin snapped.

“You have high electricity bills. That isn’t saying anything.”

“I’m saying that you can’t even afford to pay an electricity bill!” Dongmin stood from his chair suddenly and took a deep breath. Bin was using Myungjun for all that work. Bin was shafting his best friend out of a decent paycheck. Bin was sneaking around Dongmin’s back and taking even more from a man who had already lost all he had.

Dongmin wanted to scream. Dongmin wanted to cry.

“I  _ trusted _ Bin,” he choked out, balling his hands up into fists. 

“And you should still trust him!” Myungjun quickly said, also standing. “Look, he talked to me about it beforehand and I agreed to this. It made sense. He’s not earning anything, and if he wants to keep the school running, he has to make cuts. He’s not taking anything in, and Jinwoo’s taking in less—”

“Is Jinwoo fine with this?”

That was where Myungjun faltered. “I...I mean, he has, um...he has another job. He doesn’t work full-time at the school.”

“Then why don’t  _ you _ get another job?”

Myungjun looked down at his feet and answered in a mumble. “Because I work...I work full-time. Bin doesn’t have enough teachers, so he asked me to work full-time.”

Dongmin wished he had never looked over Myungjun’s stupid finances. It was causing strife within his heart, and he felt turmoil brewing within him.

“We’re going to find you another job, then,” Dongmin declared, pushing aside the papers he had printed for Myungjun. 

Myungjun struggled to collect his documents, confusion etched onto his face. “We...what? I told you, Min, I don’t want to change jobs.”

“Then do you want to live with me for your entire life?” Dongmin asked, his voice stern as he logged into his laptop. “Is that really what you want?”

“I…” Myungjun faltered under Dongmin’s intense stare. He struggled to say anything, but finally he blurted out, “Why don’t I just pick up a student or two to train? You said I could do that, right?”

“That was before, when you were getting paid a reasonable amount. This…” Dongmin gestured to the mess of papers in Myungjun’s hands. “This isn’t a reasonable amount. This is next to nothing, and even picking up a few students on the side won’t be enough. Hell, if you end up at a cafe working as a barista, you’d earn loads more. Enough, maybe, to get a nice room somewhere.”

“But I...I  _ like _ teaching,” Myungjun complained, a little half-hearted in his efforts. It was clear the need for a job change was upsetting him; also clear, however, was the knowledge that he  _ did _ need to change jobs. He was conflicted, and Dongmin could tell just from looking over at him.

He softened a bit. “You can teach,” he promised, “but it would have to be with a better paying job.” He hummed lightly before an idea came to him. “I know the concert hall in Gangnam has been looking for an event manager. You have experience with events, since you’ve been a part of them for a while, and I know the director of that venue. I can talk to him—”

“I don’t want you to get a job for me!” Myungjun exclaimed. “I’m more than capable of getting a job on my own.”

“This job pays more than enough for you to move out,” Dongmin retorted. “Besides, connections are important in the working world, didn’t I teach you that?” He pulled up his email, ignoring Myungjun’s attempts to stop him. “I’ll contact him now,” Dongmin said, “and set up an interview.”

“Dongmin—”

“I don’t demand much of you, Jun, but you  _ will _ go to this.” Dongmin turned his glare onto his best friend and snapped, “I’ll be damned if you continue working for such a pathetic amount and never go anywhere with your life, alright?”

After that, Myungjun didn’t make any other objections, and Dongmin rested a little easier knowing that Myungjun’s job prospects would hopefully take a turn for the better.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

The interview went exceedingly well, apparently. Dongmin had been worried that Myungjun would botch his interview on purpose, just so he wouldn’t have to work there, but instead Myungjun had been polite and professional and, while he wasn’t exactly  _ qualified _ for the position, he was passionate enough that the venue director had no doubts he would be a hard worker. He was offered the job and given two weeks to put in his notice at Bin’s music school.

Myungjun worried how Bin would react to such news.

“He’s always said he’s never had as good of an employee as me,” he told Dongmin, flustered and nervous. “He relies a lot on me.”

“I relied a lot on you and you were eager to get away.”

“That’s...that’s different!” Myungjun exclaimed. “I hated what I did when I was your student. I  _ love _ what I do now, with Bin’s school and all of the kids I get to help. Leaving them just makes me feel guilty. It’s like a slap in the face, isn’t it?”

Dongmin shook his head. “No, not at all. You don’t  _ owe _ Bin anything. You don’t owe anything to that school. You’re someone who needs to make a living, and your current job doesn’t allow for that.”

“Will Jinwoo be upset, you think?”

“Not if you explain it to him. He’ll understand, just as Bin will understand.”

Myungjun seemed to accept that, and he put in his two-week’s notice at work the very next day, the same day Bin was going to come over for yet another date. Dongmin hadn’t thought of the possible ramifications that Myungjun’s departure would have on Bin’s mood. He supposed he should have; he supposed it should have been obvious to him. And, yet, he was a bit blindsided when he answered the door and Bin instantly asked, “Did you tell Myungjun to quit?”

Dongmin blinked. So far, the date wasn’t starting off well. A pity, too, because he had worn his best trousers and had chosen a new movie for them to watch (something Korean, so he could stop trying to read subtitles while watching the action). 

“What makes you think that?” he asked, opening his door wider. Bin took his shoes off before stepping inside. 

“Myungjun gave me his two-week’s. He was reluctant, though, and then mentioned you. He said,  _ Dongmin helped get me this new job that pays more. _ ” Bin glanced over at Dongmin, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowed. “Did you get Myungjun a new job knowing he still worked for me?”

Dongmin wasn’t sure how to respond. He had felt a sense of justice helping Myungjun out, and he had thought that surely Bin must understand poor Myungjun’s messy predicament. But now that he was being accused of such a thing, he wondered if he had miscalculated all along, if Bin was actually far more invested in the school over other peoples’ livelihoods. 

He cautiously replied, “It was...it was with someone I know.”

The betrayal on Bin’s face was clear, but Dongmin frowned. Why would Bin be so betrayed? Dongmin didn’t want his school to fail; on the contrary, if it meant that much to Bin, then Dongmin wanted it to succeed. However, he couldn’t let Myungjun give up money so the school could succeed. He couldn’t throw Myungjun under the bus so that Bin’s dreams could come true, and he hated that Bin had apparently expected him to go along with it.

“You weren’t paying him well,” Dongmin said before Bin could get a word in. “I looked over his income. He wanted to move into his own place, and yet you were taking away money.”

“We had a discussion,” Bin responded, his teeth gritted down. He didn’t move further into the house. He stayed where he was, standing firm in the hallway, as if giving himself a chance to dart if need be. “Myungjun agreed to take less. I made it clear that I could still give him the same income, but he chose—”

“A boss should never put an employee in such a difficult situation,” Dongmin snapped. He was reminded of Myungjun’s mother, a harsh woman who had constantly compromised Dongmin’s integrity in order to benefit herself. He had finally given up, because although he would love to have her substantial payments, Myungjun’s well-being was worth so much more. “You framed it to be sympathetic, but Myungjun is aware of your financial struggles. He took less because he knew you took nothing.”

Bin threw his hands up. “That was his decision!” he exclaimed.

“And it was also his decision to quit.” Dongmin tried his best to keep his temper in check. He knew he had quite the temper; Myungjun had told him on many occasions. But if he wanted to make Bin see sense, then he had to remain calm. Yelling and fussing and blaming Bin for all that went wrong would be nothing but counterproductive. “You ought to respect his decision.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Bin asked, the anger still laced in his tone. “My only full-time teacher just quit, and I won’t be able to get another one for that salary.”

Dongmin was shocked at Bin’s behavior. Bin had always been the more level-headed one of the two. He was quite mature, and he was the one who constantly made Dongmin see the mistakes in his own actions. He spoke evenly and sweetly and never once put blame on other people. Yet here he was, blaming Dongmin for his school’s inevitable downfall, though it had been bleeding money long before they ever met.

He knew, deep down, Bin was lost and confused and just placing blame wherever he could in an effort to ease the blow of Myungjun’s departure. He knew, deep down, he should let Bin blow off some steam until the next day, when Bin would (hopefully) come around. But his temper was wild and was rearing and ready for a fight, and Bin was there to accept his fight.

“Perhaps you should be  _ happy _ for Myungjun,” Dongmin snapped at him. “He’s going to be making good money and he’ll be able to attain a modest and safe apartment nearby. He won’t struggle to pay bills or live on his own, and that couldn’t be done unless he quit your school and went elsewhere.”

“And what about me?” Bin asked, eyes wide and desperate for some sort of answer to his failed business venture. “I put  _ everything _ into this school! Am I just...am I supposed to live in poverty for the rest of my life?”

Dongmin sighed. What was he supposed to say to that? He longed to comfort Bin, to reach out and to hold him, but the way Bin treated Myungjun still got on his nerves. Frustration boiled under his skin, itching to be released, and so Dongmin allowed his anger to take hold of his words.

“That’s not Myungjun’s fault,” he said. “You made the decision to open the school. That decision was a mistake.”

Bin’s hands were clenched into fists. Dongmin briefly wondered if Bin would hit him, or if Bin wanted to hit him. He wondered how their relationship would progress if Bin  _ did _ hit him.

He wondered how their relationship would progress, anyway. Dongmin’s words were harsh; Bin’s words were harsh. They hadn’t even been dating for that long, so would they be able to salvage a broken relationship of a few weeks?

Dongmin didn’t know, but he suddenly longed to apologize. He didn’t want their relationship to be over; he liked Bin, and he wanted things to be healed between them.

He had expected Bin to respond, but Bin suddenly turned around and put his shoes back on. He said nothing. He was silent, deadly silent, silent enough that all Dongmin could really hear was his own heavy breathing.

Then Bin left, with no other explanation, and Dongmin stood in the hallway by himself.

His heart pounded in his chest. He should call out to Bin. He should chase him. He should apologize for saying such an awful thing. But he stayed where he was, pathetic and cowardly, and only stared at his closed front door.

Tears welled up in his eyes but he ignored those, too, in favor of replaying the fight over and over in his mind and hating himself for being such a horrible human being.

Bin deserved better than him.

Bin deserved someone supportive and kind and loving.

Bin deserved better than what Dongmin could ever offer him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> binu is rlly hard to write tbh but i feel like i say that every single chapter

_**[Music](https://youtu.be/VNG8Jmz5zqI) is the literature of the heart** _

_**it commences** _

_**where speech ends.** _

It was day thirteen and there was still no word yet from Bin.

Dongmin found himself staring at his phone almost constantly. From the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep again, he checked his phone by the minute, waiting for the call he knew would never come. Why should it come? He had been rude to Bin. He had driven Bin away. Bin owed him nothing, not anymore, and Dongmin knew he ought to let go and forget about their relationship. It had been a brief relationship, anyway, so it should be quite easy to disregard.

But he couldn’t. Bin was his first crush. Bin was his first boyfriend. Bin was his first kiss. How was he to forget all of that? How was he to forget how special and important Bin had become in his life?

He played the piano often, though many of the songs reminded him of Bin. He had to stop playing Bach because he had talked about Bach too much to Bin. He had to stop playing anything from the Classical Period because he had gushed over it far too often with Bin. And, of course, he couldn’t listen to any pop song renditions because Bin loved those.

He felt miserable.

“I shouldn’t feel like this,” he murmured to Myungjun as they ate dinner together one evening, celebrating Myungjun’s first paycheck at his new job. “We didn’t date that long. To be honest, it was hardly long enough for me to call him my boyfriend. How long did it take for you and Jinwoo to refer to each other as _boyfriends_?”

Myungjun paused in thought, then answered, “Two days.”

“Well…” Dongmin sighed. “You’re not a good example. You rush into things much faster than I do.”

“Sometimes it’s good to rush into things. You think too much. You need to learn that taking the plunge means _not_ thinking.” Myungjun grabbed some kimchi with his chopsticks and dumped them onto his plate. “And with Bin, I think you two had rushed things perfectly fine. You just...kept rushing when it came time to help me find a new job.”

When Dongmin said nothing in response, Myungjun continued, “He hasn’t spoken to me, either. I bet he hates me more than he does you; I’m the one who quit.”

Dongmin shook his head. “It wasn’t necessarily about you quitting. If you quit without my interjection, I assume he would be fine with it. It was because I convinced you to quit, and then I basically called his school stupid to his face.” He stared down at his food, frowning at it and asked, “Why am I so horrible with relationships? I nearly botched our relationship because I wanted to mold you into a great pianist, and now I did botch this one because I feel Bin’s talents are better elsewhere.”

“Where else would he use his talents?” Myungjun asked. “Up on stage? In concert halls? Alongside an orchestra of stodgy, old men?”

Dongmin wasn’t sure, and so he shrugged his shoulders. Myungjun kept going.

“Do you think he ought to compose? Or should he travel the world and delight audiences with his skills? Where does Bin belong?”

It was quite a loaded question. Dongmin wanted to be cliche and shout out, “He belongs in my arms!” but he held back and instead muttered, “I don’t know, Jun.”

“Maybe you should figure that out, then.” Myungjun stuffed some of the meat into his mouth and hummed in appreciation before grabbing his beer. 

Dongmin didn’t want the conversation to be over. He needed to sort through his feelings, and he needed advice on all of the relationship woes he wanted to confess. He knew Myungjun had someone on the inside, too, someone who could figure things out for him, so he asked, “How’s Jinwoo?”

Myungjun took a large sip of his beer, ignoring the question for a few seconds. When he did finally set the beer down, he met Dongmin’s gaze and scoffed. “You’re not going to force Jinwoo in the middle of this. He’s with me, watching from the sidelines, offering support where necessary but otherwise letting things heal over time.”

“I’m not asking him to get involved—”

“I’ve told him he’d best stay out of it. This is a fight between you and Bin, and I don’t want Jinwoo dragged into it. Jinwoo’s best friend is Bin; if he has to choose sides, whose side do you think he’d choose?”

Dongmin felt a little guilty for asking. He poked at his food with a chopstick and muttered, “Right.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t think it was wrong of me to take the job at the concert hall. He knows that money’s tight for me and Bin wasn’t making it easy.”

“So he thinks Bin is in the wrong?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Myungjun frowned at Dongmin. “Just that he wants me to earn more money than what Bin was willing to pay. And that isn’t a jab at Bin; he runs a non-profit. You know how difficult it is to keep one of those afloat without any donation money? And since the major donor moved, Bin had no one left to fund the school.”

Once more, there was that guilt. It welled up in Dongmin’s chest, tightening heavily around his heart, and he asked, “Is the school still running?”

Myungjun, noticing Dongmin’s sudden reluctance to discuss the school smiled lightly at him. “Barely, but Bin will find a way to get it back up again. He’s always found a way. Your boyfriend is more stubborn than you are, and that’s certainly saying something.”

Bin had definitely been stubborn when it came to his school. Dongmin was proud of him back then, back when they first met each other. Why couldn’t he conjure up that same pride when they broke up, then? Why did he act like Bin was an idiot for even starting a school in the first place? He admired Bin for such a feat; why was he unable to convey such feelings in a proper manner?

The next day marked Day Fourteen of Bin’s silence, and Dongmin felt ready to burst.

He texted Bin something simple, something to try and produce conversation: _Good morning, Bin. I hope you’re doing well_.

A minute later, it was marked as _read_. An hour later and there was no inkling of a response.

It was clear that Bin was mad at him, and Dongmin honestly couldn’t blame Bin for his frustration. Dongmin felt that he had been unsympathetic and rude. He hadn’t even tried to understand where Bin was coming from and had instead demonized his boyfriend and cast his dreams aside.

On Day Fifteen, Dongmin decided he would apologize.

Apologizing was not something he had often done. He would apologize when he was truly in the wrong, or else when the situation called for some sort of apology, even if he hadn’t necessarily been at fault. He had apologized to Myungjun after the fallout with his mother, and though he recognized that it wasn’t _his_ fault, he still felt a desire to showcase how apologetic he felt. 

But this wouldn’t be a situation similar to Myungjun’s. This was one when Dongmin had to admit his own fault in the matter. He had to take responsibility for how terrible he had acted towards the man he was supposed to comfort and protect. He had to accept that he was in the wrong and beg Bin for forgiveness. Then, maybe, he would be able to move on and they could get back together and he would support Bin in any way he possibly could. 

Before Dongmin could even change out of his pajamas, however, there was a knock at his door. Initially, Dongmin assumed the knocking would be someone for Myungjun, but after a minute or two he remembered that myungjun was spending the night with Jinwoo.

Which meant it wasn’t someone for Myungjun, probably, but someone for _him_.

He hurried over to the front door and opened it without checking his doorbell camera. To his surprise, Bin stood just over the threshold of the entrance, downtrodden and despondent. 

Dongmin stared at him, finding it difficult to remember how to breathe. It was so unexpected; the last time they had spoken to each other, they were fighting. Was it this easy to get Bin to come back to him?

Dongmin cleared his throat and greeted Bin. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” responded Bin, trying his best to offer Dongmin a small smile. The smile fell quickly, though, as if weighed down with frustration. Dongmin wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, and in an effort to bring that smile back, he opened his door wider and gestured Bin inside.

“Come on,” he ordered. “It’s chilly this morning and I’m still in my pajamas.”

At least he didn’t wear anything embarrassing to bed, not like Myungjun who slept in his colorful underwear. Long sweatpants and a t-shirt weren’t the outfit choice he would’ve chosen in order to greet his boyfriend after two weeks apart, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Bin wore casual clothes, at least, but didn’t seem like he had been awake for long. His face was a bit bloated, as it normally was when he had just woken up, and his hair was a mess, sticking up in various directions. Dongmin longed to reach out and smooth it all down, though he knew better than to touch Bin just yet; after they made up, perhaps, Dongmin would display more affection to his boyfriend. Just not yet.

“Are you doing alright?” Dongmin asked, and he didn’t give Bin a chance to answer before he shut the door and sighed. “Bin, I really should apologize. I wasn’t—”

“I need your help,” Bin blurted out, staring over at Dongmin with the saddest eyes Dongmin had ever seen. “Please, Dongmin, I really need your help and I hate asking this but I don’t have anywhere else to turn to.”

“My help?” Dongmin was growing concerned with the amount of stress he noted on Bin’s face. Bin had never looked so stressed before. Bin was typically carefree and composed. He didn’t crumble under pressure and he didn’t give in to depression. But standing here now, it was like talking to a completely different man.

Bin took a deep breath and said, “My school is going to shut down by the end of the month if I don’t get funding for it. And...Dongmin, this school is everything to me. I know you think it’s stupid and you don’t care very much for the types of children that I teach, but this school has been my dream for years. An-and it isn’t just _my_ dream. So many children come to try and get away from their own problems in life, kids whose parents tossed them aside or kids who get bullied in school. I’ve created a safe haven for them, a place where they can express themselves without judgement, and now I’ll have to shut it down. Where will they end up?” 

Dongmin didn’t know, but he was also certain that the question was hypothetical, which was just as well because he wasn’t sure what he should say.

Bin closed his eyes briefly, then asked, “Would you be willing to help fund my school?”

Dongmin stared at him. “What?”

“I...I hate asking. I know this will ruin our relationship more, but I don’t know what else to do. You were right when you said it would fail. You’ve always been right, but I was too caught up in my dreams to see anything. And...I _would_ just let the school fall instead of asking, but I also have so much tied up in the success of the school and if it were to slip away now, I’d...I’d be ruined. And isn’t that selfish of me? I’m only asking to save my own skin.”

Dongmin still said nothing. Seeing Bin like this, so desperate for help, so broken and upset, was a shock. Dongmin wondered if he had failed to ever comprehend Bin’s personality on a deeper level. To him, Bin was sweet and kind and loving. To him, Bin was above any sort of personal issue or pain. To him, Bin had been a god, and now here he was, groveling for money to help save his school.

Dongmin never thought he would like a man with such issues. He liked the idea of perfect men. He had thought Bin was perfect.

He was an idiot.

But he still liked Bin. Despite Bin’s shortcomings, Dongmin found the idea of him as a _human_ , as an imperfect human being, far more appealing than the odd notion of him being infallible. Now, Dongmin felt closer to Bin. He could relate to Bin’s downfalls, for he suffered similar ones; he was selfish, he was stubborn, he was prideful.

And he was someone Bin had cared for very much.

“We’ll need more than just my money to keep your school afloat,” Dongmin told him, offering a timid smile to Bin. “I’m rich, but I’m not rich enough to provide funding for a school. That’s...that’s old-school money. That’s money that people with long histories of rich families will have, but it isn’t money that I have.”

Bin swallowed thickly and nodded his head. “I...I understand,” he muttered. “I want to think you anyway. I know I was being horrible, especially to Jun, and I didn’t listen well—”

“No, I’m not going to give up on your school,” Dongmin assured him. “ _Or_ on you. We can make it work, Bin. I promise.”

They _could_ make it work. They could make the school work, and they could make their relationship work. Dongmin was just as selfish and stubborn and prideful as Bin, and he refused to go down without a fight. He refused to let Bin slip from his fingers so easily. Not again.

“How?” Bin asked.

Dongmin studied him for a few seconds before leading him into the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea,” he stated, “and then we can talk about your school, alright?”

Bin nodded his head, but before he sat down, he asked, “Do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For...for being rude to you. For leaving. For ignoring everything you said, even though you were right.”

Dongmin scoffed. “You have nothing to apologize for, and I _wasn’t_ right. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently, and I just...I messed up.” Dongmin put the teapot over his stove and continued, “I have my mind set on the idea that everyone ought to be more like me. Everyone ought to play pretty classical pieces up on stage and mingle with others of the same caliber. Music schools should be places of prestige, not for young kids to go and bang around on instruments. That was my thinking. When Myungjun quit his lessons, I began to consider other lifestyles, but I never saw what you did equal to what I did. And that’s...that’s horrible of me, Binnie. I should respect what you’ve been doing and working on.”

“You don’t have to respect what—”

“No, I do.” Dongmin sat down. While waiting for the water to finish boiling, he could talk more candidly. He wouldn’t have to stumble over words, either, for he truly believed in Bin’s mission after giving himself plenty of time to think it all over. “I should’ve respected it to begin with. It’s amazing, Bin, what you’ve been doing for these children. Like you said, it’s a place for them to escape the awful lives they might lead. It’s a place for them to release all of the pent-up emotions they never had the chance to release before. Banging on the piano or making a violin screech — those things help sometimes. I know I’ve banged on the piano more times than I can count when I’m frustrated, and that helps. There’s something about such a loud, jarring noise that makes me calm down just a bit.” 

He had never connected the dots before, that his release was similar to that of the students at Bin’s school, but it was. They were kids who struggled in life and found peace in music. Dongmin didn’t know why he had been so averse to the idea, but now he wanted to change his mindset.

He wanted to help Bin’s school however he could. 

An idea came to him suddenly, just as the teapot squealed. Dongmin jumped up, a wide smile on his face, and asked, “Have you ever been to a benefit concert?”

“A what?”

“I’ve played at a few before as a guest. Basically,” Dongmin said, pouring their water into his nice teacups, “it’s a concert made for the sole purpose of fundraising. The money from the tickets goes to whatever charity the concert is supposed to benefit. All you have to pay for is the venue, but I can handle that.” He came back with their tea and added, “We make the VIP tickets a couple hundred dollars and also provide an option for people to donate even more, and we should be set for a while. We might latch onto a few ongoing donors, as well. Regardless, we’ll raise interest for your school, because it’s actually not known at all in our industry.”

Bin blinked. The information was a lot, but he seemed to retain it well. He asked, “Would...would that work?”

“It’s worked for other stuff. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work here.”

“Is this just a way of keeping me around so we can continue our relationship?” Bin asked, cocking his head.

Dongmin laughed and said, “I’m selfish. Turns out, I’m more selfish than I thought, and if I can worm my way back into your heart by throwing money at your school, then I’m prepared for that.”

“You never wormed your way out of my heart,” Bin pointed out, smiling softly at him. “But...thank you, Dongmin. This means a lot to me.”

“I know,” Dongmin replied. The school meant a lot to Bin; Dongmin’s acceptance meant a lot to him, too.

This time, Dongmin was determined to make sure Bin kept both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly two months and we finally back in business!!!
> 
> binu fans pls love me

_**Life seems to go on** _

_**without effort** _

_**when I am filled with[music](https://youtu.be/TZrEY_LyV3I).** _

Now that he had devised the idea of helping Bin host a benefit concert to save his dying school, Dongmin found himself busier than he had ever been before. He researched successful concerts and he talked to Myungjun about the venue space and he collaborated with Bin on various ideas they had that would grab headlines across the city.

“We need people interested,” Dongmin informed him, spreading out the notes he had written all of his plans across. “We need to engage the general public as much as we need the rich musicians. Musicians are a lofty bunch, but the general public are the ones who will likely show more empathy.”

Bin seemed impressed with all Dongmin had to offer. He had laid out his own plans, too, though his notes were not nearly as organized as Dongmin’s were. “I feel a little bad showing off what I’ve got,” he muttered, but Dongmin smiled at him anyway.

“I’m sure what you have is fine. Besides, you’re the one in charge of the school. You know best what needs these children have and what goal we should set for fundraising.” He held a hand out and wiggled his fingers, then asked, “May I look at what you’ve written?”

“Yeah.” Bin nodded his head and passed over his notebook. “I have all of the funds in this folder, and on the first page there I’ve written down estimations of certain goals. Obviously I need to pay on the lease, so that’s a primary need, but I also need money for upkeep and to fix issues in the building, and then more money to actually retain teachers.”

Dongmin scanned the document, noting with pleasure that Bin had decided to work on raising the minimum wage to something Myungjun could live off of. It was a lofty goal, especially considering all of the complications Bin was currently facing, but Dongmin appreciated it, nonetheless. 

“We could also make the plea for volunteers,” Dongmin pointed out. “Many of the attendees of concerts are retired and have little to do except see me perform all around Korea and China and Japan. If we make the case for volunteer work, they might latch on.”

Bin laughed lightly. “They’d latch on if  _ you _ asked them to. You’re gorgeous and charming and persuasive.”

Hearing such compliments made Dongmin blush. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying his best to deny such charges, and he muttered, “I just happen to be famous within the music community, that’s all.”

“Mm, believe what you want, but I  _ know _ much of it stems from your sexy looks.”

As Bin giggled at Dongmin’s sudden timidity, Dongmin tried his best to keep his mind on the issue at hand and not let himself be swayed by Bin’s obvious charm. 

It was difficult sometimes, for even as he spoke, his eyes were drawn to Bin. Bin had about him this rugged look, a type of handsome that Dongmin had always admired. He was carefree and silly, yet his passion was strong enough that it kept him grounded to reality. Bin was serious when the need called for it, and he cast around good ideas and options in an effort to help Dongmin plan.

His best idea, the one that gave Dongmin a pause, was, “What if we involve the kids?”

“Involve them?” Dongmin blinked, looking up from where he had been mapping out what the evening ought to look like and what sort of ask they should work into the speech. “How would we involve the kids?”

“We make the concert about them. We let  _ them _ play.”

“Nobody will come to that.”

“No,” Bin agreed, “not if the concert features  _ solely _ children with a horrible ear for rhythm. However, if we still make you the headliner and if we talk about the school early on in the program, then we could have several of my students come on stage to perform.”

Bin seemed so proud of his idea, so excited for the chance to showcase the students he had worked so hard to keep, and Dongmin didn’t want to disappoint him. However, he worried about the optics of it, and he  _ especially _ worried about the talent of those children. He didn’t want one bad performance after another, and he tried his best to think of a way to express his feelings gently.

“Have they ever given a performance before?” he asked.

“Not on stage. Not to a crowd. Just to their classmates and whatever teachers are in the room. In the past, we’ve done small recitals for them so their parents or caretakers could come and watch their progress, but recently it’s too costly for me to continue.” 

At least Bin was honest about it, and Dongmin nodded his head in appreciation.

He wanted to write the kids off as untalented and boring, but he couldn’t deny the impact it would make on the possible donors if they were to see the hard work of future pianists. And if any of the kids were really good, it might create more incentive for them to donate.

Dongmin gave a small hum, then wrote down Bin’s idea. “It could definitely work. We could have Myungjun return in the evenings to train them; hell, I’d train them, too!”

“You would?” Bin’s eyes lit up with excitement. “That’d be awesome if you would have a hand in it! They won’t know who you are, but you could tell the audience that you played a part in the future of all these kids!”

“Ah, well,” Dongmin cleared his throat. “My one student became the laughing stock of that community, so I doubt they’ll expect anything much from me.”

“Myungjun wasn’t a laughing stock.”

“He was.” Dongmin could still remember reading the nasty reviews written about Myungjun online.  _ So much for Dongmin’s one and only student _ , most of them read, though one particular one had plenty to say about Myungjun’s bad looks and his bad posture and his bad nose and his bad legs. “I tried my best to do damage control, but until we get another failure from the student of a famous pianist, Myungjun will likely be remembered for a while.”

Bin seemed interested. “How did you do damage control?”

“I made online accounts and attacked whoever posted something mean about him,” Dongmin replied. “Though when Myungjun found out, he made me stop. I was getting into fights too often.”

With a small smile, Bin reached over and gave Dongmin’s arm a light pat. “You’re a good friend.”

“Not really.”

“You  _ are _ . You’re a far better friend than you give yourself credit for. I think you ought to accept it.”

Surely Bin must see something in him that others could not, for Dongmin never thought he was a good friend. He was loyal, perhaps, but loyalty didn’t make one good. He had chastised Myungjun year after year for not taking his piano lessons seriously. He had accepted bribes from Myungjun’s horrible mother in an effort to better Myungjun’s skills. He had used his friend as little more than a vehicle to propel them both into fame.

“I just think…” Dongmin cleared his throat, wondering how to best explain his emotions. He never did like to talk about feelings. It was useless, he had assumed, in comparison with more important things. Myungjun slowly helped him to emerge from such a damaging mindset, but it was with Bin that Dongmin felt truly free to discuss anything that was bothering him. This was no exception. Bin instantly looked ready to listen, leaning forward with a practiced ease that Dongmin was jealous of. Bin empathized easily. Bin listened easily. Bin was truly everything Dongmin had always desired to become.

When Dongmin hesitated, Bin urged him with a small, “I won’t judge you.”

“I know.” Dongmin took a deep breath. “I sometimes think I’m a horrible person. I mean...it took me this long to see the good in your school; likewise, it took me years to finally release Myungjun from his oppressive lessons. I just think...I’m not always a good person. Hardly ever, honestly, and I’m ashamed of that.”

Bin scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re helping me put on an entire concert just so my school won’t close down. You’re using all of your contacts for this, and you’re risking a lot in order to bring awareness to a bunch of kids who can’t carry a tune. That’s something only a good person would do.”

It felt nice listening to Bin compliment him. Though Dongmin was never one to fish for such compliments, he wanted to hear more, and so he smiled slightly and muttered, “You’re just saying that.”

“And  _ you _ are trying to get me to say more nice stuff about you.” Bin giggled but his observation didn’t stop him from cooing, “Have I ever told you how cute you are, while I’m at it?”

“Oh, god, now I regret having said anything.” Dongmin hid his flushed cheeks behind his hands as Bin laughed at him.

They spent a little while longer working on plans for the benefit concert, once Dongmin was able to control his blushing a bit better. They discussed songs the students could play, and Dongmin expressed interest in seeing other instruments up on stage.

There were kids who played string instruments; mostly violins, but one or two who worked with cellos and guitars. Some kids played wind instruments; flutes and recorders were apparently the most popular. And, Bin explained with a source of pride, “Jinwoo teaches several of them how to play on drums. We’ve got most of those on snare drums, but two of them know how to play on the drum set, like Jinwoo does. We should include them.”

“I can understand if the drums were incorporated into classical music, but an entire section of the concert focused on drums isn’t exactly the sort of entertainment the audience will be looking for,” Dongmin argued. “That’s band entertainment; if they wanted that, they’d buy tickets to a rock-and-roll concert.”

Bin nodded his head a bit with understanding, but asked, “Will the audience be looking for  _ any _ of this? Will they really be looking for a bunch of kids who can hardly carry a tune to entertain them for an hour or two?”

Bin was correct. Dongmin pursed his lips as he thought. Part of him wanted to continue to reject the involvement of drums in what ought to be a beautiful benefit concert. However, the other part of him, the part that had become more insistent in his mind the more he hung out with Bin, recognized that they ought to include as many of the students as they could. If that meant showcasing drums as a major part, then they would have to do it.

“Are there drum solos for them?” Dongmin asked, growing a bit curious as to the structure of Bin’s school and the classes the children took. 

Bin, excited to have cracked away a bit at Dongmin’s resolve, smiled with excitement. “Yeah! Jinwoo uses a lot of songs that marching bands will play. Most of his students come from the same school, so Jinwoo has them play their school song. They can also play a few tunes from movies and shows.”

“Can they play  _ well? _ ”

“No, but neither can most of the kids. But I’ll choose the best ones from each group to represent our school. I’d be an idiot if I let them get on stage and just clash their instruments around for a few minutes. No one would donate to us then.”

Dongmin admired Bin’s truthfulness and optimism throughout the planning process. He admitted when things might not work, and he still trudged through those obstacles in an effort to make the best concert possible. All the while as they planned and wrote down various song ideas, Dongmin kept glancing back up to Bin, wondering why on earth Bin had ever been drawn to  _ him _ . Dongmin was stodgy and pessimistic and prone to retreat into his shell when things went wrong. Yet, Bin  _ liked _ him. Bin liked him enough to come crawling back, to plan a concert together, to compliment him and flirt with him and shower him with enough adoration that Dongmin felt disoriented. 

Part of Dongmin’s mind wondered if perhaps the praise was part of Bin’s larger plan to revive his school. After all, Bin knew him rather well; it wouldn’t be much of a stretch if Bin was using what he knew in an effort to woo Dongmin to make the benefit concert happen. But Dongmin brushed those thoughts aside as paranoid nonsense. It was clear that Bin wasn’t that sort of person. He had always been honest and genuine. He had refused help for such a long time, and had only come back due to dire need. Besides, there was no reason for fake compliments; Dongmin was willing to help regardless of Bin’s sweet words, and he knew that Bin was aware of that fact.

Bin, it seemed, simply liked being with him. When they finished up for the day, Bin helped him to put away all the notes, and when they stood from the table and stretched, Bin said, “Should we grab dinner?”

Dongmin hadn’t expected such a question. He hesitated for a moment, but then smiled widely. “I didn’t realize it, but I am hungry.”

Bin had no reason to stay with him any longer, yet with Dongmin’s confirmation, he grinned and quickly began searching nearby restaurant locations on his phone, as if too excited to wait any longer for a quick date night.

“There’s a place nearby that serves good kalguksu,” Dongmin suggested, knowing that most of the other restaurants in the close proximity were a little too expensive for Bin at the moment. And, thinking of Bin’s dire financial situation, he added, “I can pay for us.”

Bin shook his head. “I don’t want  _ you _ to pay. I’m the one who asked you out, so I’ll be the one to pay. I have enough money for food, at least.”

He admired Bin’s pride, though he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at his own full wallet, stocked with cards and cash to last him a couple years, even if he never worked another day in his life. And there was Bin, struggling to get by, checking his bank account online just to ensure he had enough left to pay for the both of them.

Dongmin’s guilt was far too great, and so he said, “You’re poor. I’m rich.”

Bin grimaced. “That’s one way to put it.”

“It makes more sense for  _ me _ to pay, at least until your school develops more of an income.” Dongmin grabbed his coat and tossed Bin’s over to him. “Put your pride aside for a few days and let me help you.”

“I don’t want to rely on you, though.”

“I  _ want _ you to.” Dongmin tightened his lips as he thought best of how to explain himself. “I’ve never dated anyone before, and I’ve always assumed I would shower them with gifts and food and everything else money can buy. Honestly, I don’t spend too much on myself. I invest and I save up, but otherwise I have a lot of money that I do absolutely nothing with. Let me spoil you a little bit, alright?”

Bin sighed. He was obviously thinking things through, deciding whether or not he could abandon his pride to accept a small offering of food.

“Let me pay next time,” he demanded.

Dongmin couldn’t help but grin, knowing he had gotten his way. “Deal. But  _ you’ll _ pay next time for the kalguksu. For now, I’m going to pay for a good French restaurant down the street. Super fancy. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Fancy means expensive.”

“That’s right.”

Bin narrowed his eyes and so Dongmin tried his best to still look innocent and sweet. “Oh, but we probably can’t show up in these clothes,” Dongmin pointed out, trying his best to steer the conversation away from whatever cute argument Bin would try to bring up. “Why don’t we change into suits?”

The way Bin’s displeasure morphed into confusion was precious. Dongmin wished he had taken a video of it. “Suits?”

Dongmin nodded his head. “That’s right. It’s fine dining, so they do require suits. We’re about the same size, though, so we can look in my closet and see if there’s anything you like. I must warn you that they all look the same, albeit in different colors.”

He thought that by talking fast and rushing down the hallway, Bin wouldn’t be able to oppose his request. Unfortunately, Bin was far more crafty than Dongmin gave him credit for. Bin caught up with him quickly and grabbed his arm, spinning him around so he was staring at Bin’s smiling face.

It was a dangerous smile. It was a smile Dongmin could fall into time and time again. It was a smile that would leave Dongmin defenseless, willing to take whatever it was Bin would throw at him.

Bin held tight, but he needn’t do that, for Dongmin didn’t want to pull away.

“You really think I’ll just let you take me out without an argument?”

“We’ve argued plenty for a while. I think it’s best if we just agree.”

“You think it’s best if  _ I _ just agree.”

Dongmin smirked. “That’s right,” he said. “I think it’s best if  _ you _ agree to let me take the lead on this date. Don’t worry, I’ll do whatever you want for the next date.”

Bin raised an eyebrow and leaned in close. “Whatever I want?” he repeated.

Dongmin lost that smirk and whatever confidence he had somehow managed to muster up. Seeing Bin so close, so handsome and perfect, was difficult. It was difficult to keep breathing and it was difficult to keep staring, yet it was difficult to do anything  _ but _ breathe and stare. Bin was so close, right within reach, and all Dongmin could think of was their kiss from before they had the short falling out.

Dongmin started to lean forward the rest of the way, but as if sensing his desires, Bin drew back suddenly. “Whatever I want, then,” he stated, a wide smile on his face. “Show me those suits.”

Feeling a bit dazed, Dongmin stood still for a few seconds until Bin laughed and shoved playfully at Dongmin’s shoulder. “Come on, Minnie! I’m starving!” It was such a change in attitude and personality, but Dongmin found it interesting. It definitely kept him on his toes. And as he stumbled to his bedroom, his heart pounding as his excitement grew for  _ whatever Bin wanted _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three more chapters, can u believe im writing a long binu fic? bc i cant.

**_[music](https://youtu.be/XjPMc688qQA) is the language of spirit_ **

**_it opens the secret of life_ **

**_bringing peace, abolishing strife_ **

In an effort to better understand the school that Bin coveted so dearly, Dongmin made the decision to visit during its operating hours. He took Myungjun with him, who was nearly bursting in excitement to see all of his old students and mingle with his old coworkers. On his rare day off from the music hall, he dressed casually and babbled on and on to Dongmin about how much work the kids put into their music lessons, how fortunate they were to have such a wonderful place, and also how hot Jinwoo looked playing the drums.

“I agree with most of what you said,” Dongmin told him on the drive down to the school. “However, Bin has informed me that most of the students aren’t that talented.”

Myungjun gave a slight scoff and his only response was, “As long as you don’t deny that Jinwoo is hot.”

Dongmin was in love with Bin, but he certainly wasn’t blind to Jinwoo’s good looks and charms. Besides, why would he argue that point? Myungjun was happy in his relationship, and there would be no reason to put down Jinwoo’s physical appearance. Jinwoo was good for Myungjun; he was kind and thoughtful and weirdly intuitive. Dongmin appreciated the effect Jinwoo had on Myungjun’s life. 

“I would never deny such a thing,” Dongmin responded, and Myungjun hummed in satisfaction. However, Dongmin did have to add, “As long as you don’t deny the same thing about Bin.”

“Of course not. I thought Bin was hot the moment I saw him. If I hadn’t met Jinwoo, I’d still be trailing after Bin, you know. But I don’t think I would have fallen for him in the same way I fell for Jinwoo. Bin was just a small, simple crush; when I saw Jinwoo for the first time, though, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was like my heart just stopped, you know? And all I could do was stare at him and think that I’d really like to hold his hand or something.”

Dongmin did always like listening to Myungjun describe his feelings. Myungjun wasn’t a great orator and his storytelling could use some work, yet he was always expressive and even if he stretched the truth a little bit, his descriptions were still realistic. 

He also wondered if he had thought the same when he first saw Bin. He remembered the feeling of awe. He remembered being completely taken with Bin’s talent, with his skill on the violin. Bin was able to create a masterpiece, just like all of the men throughout history that Dongmin admired. But Bin took his masterpiece a step further. Bin covered the masterpiece with buckets of paint and let creativity drip from the canvas. The masterpiece was no longer the original image; the masterpiece had become the colors Bin splattered atop of it.

His music was similar. Though he liked to play songs from popular cartoons or television shows or movies, he took a masterpiece and made it his own. He overlaid the original majestic piece with a personal tint, thus recreating a masterpiece in a completely different manner.

Dongmin had pushed his feelings for Bin’s craft aside. However, in that place remained an attraction.

“Bin is hot,” Dongmin muttered, knowing he had completely strayed from the initial conversation. Myungjun smirked over at him but said nothing to retort Dongmin’s honest statement. 

Even if Dongmin did pretend that he hadn’t been taken with Bin’s talent, then he at least had to admit that he was flustered by the mere sight of such a gorgeous man. Bin had the masculine traits that Dongmin was drawn to; Bin had the inner softness that Dongmin adored. He was the perfect specimen, the one man alive that was able to properly compliment Dongmin’s personality. He existed to be by Dongmin’s side — or so Dongmin told himself, anyway, when he realized that their hands fit perfectly together.

When they arrived at the school, they had fallen into a comfortable silence, but Dongmin found himself growing jittery with nerves. He couldn’t wait to see Bin again, and as he hurried Myungjun out of the car, Myungjun scoffed, “Slow down. You two were hanging out yesterday.”

“So it’s been nearly twenty-four hours. I might die.”

“I never thought I’d see you in such a state!” Myungjun laughed and closed the car door behind him. “The great pianist, Lee Dongmin, in a fit of hurry over a man he calls his  _ boyfriend _ . That’s some headline, Minnie, and I’d be shocked if it didn’t make the national news. They’ll have you on talk shows and in circuses. People won’t be able to believe that you’ve really changed so much over some guy.”

Myungjun wasn’t wrong, in any case. Dongmin  _ had _ changed. He felt the change within him, blossoming since the moment he met Bin, and now it had truly bloomed. He was a changed man. He no longer adhered to his own, strict rules about how musical instruments ought to be played. He no longer kept a tight grip on poor Myungjun and he no longer turned his nose up at those who were different from him.

In his defense, he retorted, “It’s a good change, though.”

“Oh, it’s a  _ really _ good change.”

“And it wasn’t all Bin.”

Myungjun smiled kindly at him, then hooked their arms together. He was much shorter, and yet he stood proud and tall, and Dongmin thought that Myungjun, with all his confidence and bravado, stood over him. “Nah. You did most of it yourself. Bin just helped to give you that single push you needed.”

Bin had definitely pushed him over the edge, out of his little bubble of comfort, and Dongmin had fallen with glee. 

He smiled back at Myungjun as they headed into the school building. His exuberant attitude could not last long, however, for he needed to take note of the state of the school. There were weeds, fallen bricks, and vines snaking up alongside the school building. Several windows outside were boarded up; Myungjun told him Bin was unable to fix broken windows that had come about from a bit of vandalism from some neighborhood gangs nearby. All in all, the school looked to be in a rather pitiful state. Dongmin took a few pictures on his phone, intent on showcasing just how much the school needed to be helped.

Once inside, they meandered down the small hallways of the school. Music filled Dongmin’s head, coming at him from all directions. He could hear drums pounding along, some keeping to an actual beat while most just hit at the drums in an effort to create as much noise as possible. There were wind instruments being played, too. Dongmin could hear some lighter wood instruments coupled with loud brass instruments. He winced when he heard a particularly scathing note from a tuba, but then continued to walk along with Myungjun, determined to find Bin and discuss the next steps to get the school its much-needed funding. 

When he heard string instruments, he hurried his pace, knowing that Bin would be behind the violin, smiling at the children who turned  _ music _ into a form of torture.

Sure enough, when he peeked into the next classroom door, Bin stood by directing children in an awful rendition of  _ Ode to Joy _ . 

“Beethoven would be rolling in his grave right now,” Dongmin muttered to Myungjun.

Myungjun shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. He might be pretty happy to know that some kids are trying their best to learn his music.” However, after a rather ear-wrenching note, Myungjun grimaced and added, “Or not.”

Dongmin nodded his head, then asked, “Should we wait? He’s busy with them.”

“The longer we wait, the longer they’ll play,” Myungjun pointed out.

That got Dongmin moving. He knocked on the door, peering through the glass window until he saw Bin’s face light up. Bin clapped his hands a few times and the terrible music finally came to a halt. Dongmin breathed a sigh of relief as Bin rushed over to the door to let Myungjun and Dongmin inside.

A few of the children seemed excited. They squealed out Myungjun’s name and rushed over to him, nearly jabbing Dongmin in the side with their violin bows. Myungjun laughed all the while, kneeling closer to their level and inquiring about the state of their practices. He chastised one for switching over to the violin, though he seemed to recognize that it was his leaving that had urged children to pick up a different instrument.

_ At least they stayed at the school, _ Dongmin thought to himself, knowing how important the students were to Bin. Disenfranchised, poor, and lonely, the children at the school had found a hobby. More importantly, they had found role models who were helping to shape their futures and give them something other than despair.

While the children were occupied with Myungjun, Bin took Dongmin aside and grinned widely at him. He looked better than he had in days. Clearly the talk of a benefit concert had perked him up and helped to make his situation seem a little more hopeful than it had been before. 

“You look good today,” Dongmin murmured, trying his best to keep the flirting down a bit. There was no reason to let the little kids overhear a private conversation.

In response, Bin giggled, a sweet, short sound that caused Dongmin’s heart to beat wildly in his chest. “Thanks,” Bin said, then returned the compliment with a quiet, “And  _ you _ look super hot, but you look super hot every day so I’m not surprised anymore.”

Dongmin felt his cheeks flush, and he ducked his head in an effort to hide his embarrassment from the kids, and especially from Myungjun. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he whispered. “We’re here to discuss business.”

“Right. Business.” Bin laughed again and tried his best to lift Dongmin’s head up, his calloused fingers gliding over Dongmin’s chin. “Come on, Minnie, don’t be so shy! You’re a hot business guy!”

“I’ll leave if you keep this up,” Dongmin warned, though the threat was useless because they both knew that Dongmin wouldn’t leave. 

As expected, Bin smirked, not at all deterred from his teasing. “Alright, Mr. Hot Business Guy. I’ll stop complimenting you for now.” Before Dongmin could say anything to scold Bin again for his flirtatious language, Bin quickly added, “I’m almost done with this class. You guys can sit and watch; give me ten minutes to finish up and make sure the kids are picked up, alright? Then we can talk.”

It didn’t take very long for parents and guardians to start arriving. Dongmin noticed many of the children had grandparents to pick them up; some had older siblings. A few were able to walk home on their own, and Myungjun sadly whispered to Dongmin, “They don’t have anyone to pick them up.”

Within ten minutes, as Bin predicted, the classroom was emptied. Bin grabbed a few chairs and pulled them up to his desk, which looked to be a chaotic mess of papers and checks and music notes. He apologized for it, trying his best to straighten everything up, but Dongmin shook his head. “It’s fine,” he assured his boyfriend. “There’s a method to your madness.”

“You’re too nice,” Myungjun blurted out, and to Bin he announced, “You’re the messiest person I know. Even more messy than Jinwoo, and that’s saying something.”

As if on cue, Jinwoo stepped into the room, his eyebrows raised from Myungjun’s words. “ _ Who _ is messy?”

Myungjun didn’t seem to care that he had just been caught in the act. He merely grinned and responded, “You are, babe. Don’t worry, though, I still love you despite how much I have to clean up after you.”

Jinwoo took a seat next to Myungjun, though he leaned over to Dongmin and said, “He doesn’t clean up after me.”

“I do!” Myungjun retorted. “I clean up after Dongmin, too!”

“Now I  _ know _ you’re stretching the truth,” Dongmin muttered, rolling his eyes a little bit from Myungjun’s ridiculous posturing. 

Bin cleared his throat, and everyone glanced over at him, as if suddenly remembering that they were supposed to be having a meeting. When he noticed he had everyone’s full attention, he smiled widely and gestured to Dongmin. “Why don’t you begin? Tell us what you have planned for the concert.”

Dongmin hadn’t brought along his notebook, but he  _ had _ memorized everything he needed to discuss. Besides that, both Myungjun and Bin were privy to Dongmin’s late-night musings and they had both contributed a great amount to Dongmin’s never-ending stream of ideas.

“As per Bin’s suggestion, we’re going to shift focus to the children,” Dongmin started, in lieu of an actual greeting. He figured he didn’t need one; he had driven in with Myungjun and he was dating Bin. The only person he wasn’t familiar with on a personal level was Jinwoo, but even Jinwoo came by often in order to hang out with Myungjun. Now Jinwoo stared at him, small eyes focused, looking incredibly serious despite his bleached hair and dangling earrings. 

So he continued, “Many members of the more elite musical society will come expecting to be entertained by professionals. However, if we truly want to display how much these children need the funding, I don’t think we can rely on professionals to do the entertaining. The audience would still donate, but we don’t need their one-time donations. We need recurring donors. We need people who will give year after year, quarter after quarter, hopefully even month after month. And to do this, we have to place the kids on the stage and allow them to make the plea for us. It’s more impactful to have a kid banging on the piano in the best way they know how than it is for me to go up there and perform some half-hearted piece.”

“As  _ if _ you do anything half-hearted,” Myungjun teased.

Dongmin allowed himself to smile at that, and he added, “None of us do anything half-hearted. That’s why I think we each need to play a part in the performance. I think the three of you should choose several children who display exemplary skill, and we’ll show off those children. We need a string instrument and a brass instrument and a wind instrument and a percussion instrument. Plus, of course, the piano. Myungjun, you can work evenings and weekends in order to train someone on the piano, can’t you?”

Myungjun blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected to be roped back into the school, and he glanced nervously at Jinwoo, as if to verify whether or not Dongmin’s desire was worthwhile. Jinwoo smiled encouragingly at him, and so Myungjun asked, “You really think I’d be the best teacher for such an important concert?”

“Why not? You  _ were _ my student, after all, and I wouldn’t have chosen someone worthless as my student. I know that you’ll be able to do this.”

Myungjun swallowed nervously. He didn’t meet Dongmin’s eye. He turned his gaze to the floor instead, sitting on his hands as if to keep them from fidgeting. “I might have lost my touch. It’s been a while since I played the piano. I’m not as good as you are.”

Dongmin wanted to comfort Myungjun, to proclaim Myungjun’s greatness for the world to see, but Jinwoo beat him to it. Jinwoo was quicker than Dongmin, swooping in with a soft coo and a gentle, “Junnie, you’re  _ brilliant _ with the piano! You’ve never once lost your touch, I promise. I’ve heard you play recently, and you sound just as beautiful as you did the day I first saw you in concert.”

“I’ll gag if you keep being so sweet,” Bin muttered.

Jinwoo shot him a glare and fussed, “Shut up. I’m comforting my boyfriend.”

Myungjun perked up a bit with the compliments being flung his way, though he did ask, “Do you really think I’m that good?”

“I think you’re  _ amazing _ .”

“Am I better than Dongmin?”

Jinwoo didn’t even hesitate before nodding his head with enthusiasm and kissing Myungjun’s cheek. “You’re  _ way _ better than Dongmin.”

Bin scoffed but Jinwoo, again, gave him a pointed look, a sign that he ought not say anything. It looked like a fight would ensue, even as Myungjun sat there cheerfully, proud at being praised to such an extent. Dongmin decided he needed to get the meeting back on track.

“Then it’s settled. Myungjun will train one or two of the students on the piano. Get them ready for the concert. Let them play something interesting and fun.”

Myungjun, still with his hands grasped around Jinwoo’s hands, glanced at Dongmin and asked, “What’s your definition of interesting and fun?”

“Whatever your definition is,” Dongmin responded.

It was obviously unbelievable. Dongmin could tell that Myungjun doubted the sincerity of that statement, and he asked again, “What’s  _ your _ definition?”

“It doesn’t matter what my definition is. I want the kids to play something that’s fun and interesting for them and for you. I want them to enjoy being up on stage. I...don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.” He had forced Myungjun to perform songs that Myungjun didn’t care for. He had forced Myungjun to practice until his hands cramped. He had made Myungjun’s life miserable just to hear that pretty masterpiece on stage.

He wouldn’t do it again, nor would he allow Myungjun to do that to another student.

Myungjun smiled kindly at Dongmin, then nudged their shoulders together. “You didn’t make a mistake. You made a great piano prodigy who has somehow surpassed your own skill, based off the words of my sweet boyfriend.”

“And I don’t lie,” Jinwoo added.

Dongmin, sensing that Myungjun had forgiven him for his deeds a long time ago, returned the smile and looked back toward Bin. “Alright,” Dongmin said with a long sigh. “Alright, I’ll accept it.”

“Good.” Myungjun giggled and returned to leaning in Jinwoo’s embrace. “Let’s keep planning, then, shall we?”

It was there, sitting with his group of friends, his heart light with Myungjun’s forgiveness, that Dongmin realized he had never felt as happy as he did in this particular moment.

He wanted to chase that happiness forever and ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we near the concert

**If[music](https://youtu.be/o15d5MDDZuI) be **

**the food of love**

**play on.**

Dongmin slammed his hands down onto the keys of his piano, halting his song with a loud noise that echoed throughout the otherwise empty room. It was a sound he had made many times before, a brief exclamation to display his frustrations. He hated showing such a weakness, such a stupid inability to complete the piece he was working on, but he couldn’t control the anger welling up inside when he made mistakes on such simple notes. With a huff, he flipped pages back until he reached the beginning of the composition and he started again.

The first bit was easy enough to get through. However, when the piece picked up and became louder, more robust, Dongmin found himself faltering. It had been a few weeks since he had practiced, anyway, and his skill had become rusty. He thought of Myungjun earlier that day, the pure, raw talent that had shined as he taught the children some of his favorite piano compositions. He thought of Bin, who could play the violin so fluidly that it was like he was a puppet being controlled by a greater puppetere. Even Jinwoo could move quickly on the drums, flipping his drumsticks this way and that to create an amazing piece.

And yet Dongmin, the only famous one of the group, the man who played in sold-out venues to people all across the world, couldn’t finish some stupid composition.

He faltered again. He pressed the wrong key and the music fell apart.

“Dammit!” he yelled, once more slamming his hands down. The piano gave a burst of anger in reply, and Dongmin sighed before laying his head down across the keys. He cared not about the oils and sweat that would likely coat his precious, clean, white keys; all he cared for was catching his breath.

There was a knock at the door. Dongmin said nothing for he knew it was Myungjun and he knew Myungjun would enter regardless of what Dongmin _did_ say. Sure enough, the door cracked open and Myungjun poked his head in.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Dongmin shot him a helpless expression in response.

“I’ll go ahead and assume you've also said hello.” Myungjun stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What’s got you down? Godowsky?”

“How did you know?”

Myungjun shrugged and began to walk closer to Dongmin. “I think I’d recognize Godowsky from anywhere. Never attempted his more difficult works, but I think Godowsky and I share a lot in common.”

“How so?”

“Super talented yet full of stage fright.” Myungjun grinned as he sat on the piano bench next to Dongmin. He was banished to the edge of the seat, for Dongmin took up much of the available space. Still, Myungjun didn’t push or shove or else try to claim more for himself. He simply sat there and pressed a single key on the piano, as if testing its sound. 

Dongmin picked his head up from his piano. He gestured angrily to the piece and complained, “I can’t get past this one part. I don’t know why I can’t get past it; it’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible, or else Godowsky wouldn’t have been able to write the composition. Which one is it?” Myungjun glanced at the name and gave a small hum. “ _Passacaglia._ Is this your piece for the concert?”

“Yes. Maybe I should have chosen something more simple.”

“Maybe. Are you trying to show off in front of the little kids?” Myungjun sounded joyful, though, as if he found the entire concept of Dongmin proving he had no modesty a little enjoyable. He didn’t wait for an answer concerning the children. He read through the notes and then asked, “Can I try the part you’re having difficulties with?”

Dongmin was certain that Myungjun would be unable to do much with the complicated piece, but he stood up, anyway, and waved a hand with flourish. “Be my guest. Prove me wrong; show me that it’s possible for someone other than Godowsky to play such a ridiculous piece.”

Myungjun smiled widely and wasted no time. He began the piece slowly, just as Godowsky had written. His notes sounded clean and polished, as if he had been practicing _Passacaglia_ for a very long time, though Dongmin was certain it was his first time playing.

Of course, as he neared the complex measure, he began to fall apart. He hit wrong key after wrong key. He would stop and go back to fix his mistakes. Over and over again Myungjun proved that it was a struggle to learn.

And then, suddenly, on his seventh try, he passed the portion Dongmin couldn’t play.

Dongmin could only stand there and watch in amazement as Myungjun flew through the rest of the composition, his mistakes minor and his technique perfect. He was left panting a bit by the end, obviously winded by such a frustrating performance, but he stood and bowed to Dongmin, anyway, that large smile never once leaving his face. 

“How did I do?” he asked.

Dongmin pursed his lips and stormed to the bench. He plopped down and then said again, “Dammit.”

“That good, huh?” Myungjun laughed and rubbed at Dongmin’s shoulder. Dongmin swatted him away as if he was nothing but an annoying fly. And that’s what he was, wasn’t he? Some annoying pest, a fly that buzzed in through the open door and sat on Dongmin’s bench and proceeded to show off and create a gorgeous masterpiece in Dongmin’s place. He was a fly that would kick Dongmin from the stage and become the new piano prodigy. 

Well, maybe then he wasn’t a fly, but an obstacle in Dongmin’s way.

Wasn’t it mean to think of his best friend as an obstacle, though? Shouldn’t Dongmin be proud of Myungjun for accomplishing such a feat? The Myungjun he knew from a few months prior would have never been able to play _Passacaglia_ . This Myungjun, new and improved and _happy_ , could.

But _he_ wasn’t happy. Dongmin wanted to be the one to play _Passacaglia_ , and yet he was shown up by his student. He felt pathetic, and in an act of desperate approval, he blurted out, “I played this well yesterday.”

“We live together. You didn’t play it well yesterday.”

“When you were out, I did.”

“I have a feeling that you would have boasted to me at the time if you had gotten it.”

Dongmin felt angry again. He slammed a hand on the keys to verbalize his anger. Myungjun, far too used to it, didn’t even wince. “Just let me have this!” Dongmin exclaimed. “It’s the one piece I can’t do; please don’t be better than me at the piano!”

Myungjun sighed. He gave Dongmin’s shoulder another pat. “I’m _not_ better than you. I’ve just been working with the kids and so my piano skills have gotten better. You’ve been working with the venue, and focusing on figuring out logistics. You’ve yet to train anyone else, and there’s no other concerts coming up that include your name, so you’ve just gotten a little rusty.”

“Right.” Dongmin nodded his head frantically, trying to force himself to believe that was the case. 

As if seeing right through his facade, Myungjun pursed his lips and pressed a random key down on Dongmin’s grand piano. When Dongmin glanced up at him in annoyance, the older man grinned and asked, “Why don’t you invite Bin over?”

Dongmin took a defensive stance. “What for?”

“Just to see if maybe your boyfriend’s presence will somehow inspire you. Jinwoo inspires me often. When he’s by my side, I feel like I can play anything. That’s how I got through this Godowsky piece, you know; I thought of how proud Jinwoo would feel if he could hear me play this. I might play it for him, just to see him smile. Wouldn’t you like it if Bin would watch you fly through this piece? He’d smile so wide and he’d probably take you to your room afterwards.”

“Don’t be gross,” Dongmin chastised.

Still, the idea was certainly not unwelcome. Dongmin liked it when Bin praised him for his talents, and if Bin could hear _Passacaglia_ played correctly with no fumbles or mishaps, then he would be incredibly impressed. He would shout his compliments for hours, likely, because Bin never knew when to quiet down with his sweet, kind words. 

Dongmin would like that very much.

“Ah,” said Myungjun, a large grin overtaking his face. “You want him here, don’t you?” He pulled his phone from his back pocket, almost too excited with the prospect of his best friends hanging out. Dongmin thought that Myungjun was unhealthily interested in his love life. He wished he knew how to put a stop to it.

“Shall I call him?” Myungjun asked.

“ _I_ can call my own boyfriend, thank you very much.” Dongmin swatted at Myungjun; now he really did feel like some sort of annoying fly. “Shoo. I need to ask him to come over. He might not even say yes. He might be busy.”

Myungjun scoffed. “That sounds stupid, and you know it. He’ll come. He’ll drop everything and come running to you day or night.”

Dongmin was quite aware of that. He and Bin were infatuated with each other. Bin truly loved him, and Bin really _would_ run into his arms if Dongmin requested it.

“Well, regardless,” Dongmin said, feeling a little proud of his own boyfriend for his reliability, “If I call him to come help me, I don’t really need you hanging around.”

“Why? Is it going to be a date?”

“I’ll make it one.”

Myungjun giggled. “Will you be...retreating back to your bedroom?”

“Go to work, Myungjun.” He felt exasperated in dealing with his best friend, though he couldn’t help the smile that threatened to tug at his own lips. Even if it was inappropriate to joke about, Myungjun still managed to amuse him.

Myungjun finally left with a little more coaxing, and Dongmin, staring at the notes on the piano stand, wondered if this was really something to call Bin over. While Dongmin thought it was important, Bin might have another idea. What if it wasn’t that important to him? What if he didn’t really appreciate being pulled from whatever business he had in order to listen to Dongmin fail over and over again?

Before he could make a definite decision either way, his phone suddenly rang. Dongmin jumped slightly before pulling it from his pockets.

 _Binnie_ , the caller ID declared, and Dongmin laughed. Even when he did nothing but think of Bin, his boyfriend somehow knew.

When he answered, he bypassed any greeting and said, “You always know exactly when to call.”

Bin paused for a second before asking, “Do you need me?”

“I think so.” Dongmin flipped through a few of the pages of the composition and then gave a loud sigh, trying his best to convey the disappointment he felt. “I can’t get this piece.”

“What piece is it?” Bin asked. He sounded interested. He sounded curious. Bin always was genuine, something Dongmin very much appreciated, especially in a time like this when he desperately needed someone genuine to help him.

“Godowsky’s _Passacaglia_ ,” Dongmin responded.

Bin gave a low whistle. “Alright, I see where you’re coming from. That one’s difficult. I’ve seen other pianists attempt it, and some of them can hit the notes, but most can’t.”

Instantly, Dongmin felt jealous. Bin had always seen _others_ hit those notes? The same notes he was unable to get? That wasn’t fair at all, and Dongmin felt the desire to be appreciated well up within his soul.

He blurted out, “Why don’t you come listen to me? I’m sure with you nearby, I’ll be able to finish this damn composition.”

“Really? I can come over?” Bin was already moving; Dongmin could hear him shuffling around, likely getting ready. He always dropped everything and ran at a moment’s notice, just as Myungjun had said. Dongmin’s jealousy evaporated and was replaced instead with excitement to see his loving boyfriend.

“Of course you can come over!” Dongmin exclaimed, standing from his piano bench and rushing off himself, determined to find some better clothes. Maybe he needed some tighter pants, or even a shirt that defined his figure a bit more. 

“Then I’ll be there in twenty minutes!” Bin responded. He sounded as if he was out of breath; he must have really picked up the pace, and Dongmin’s heart beat loudly in his chest. He wondered if Bin could hear it over the phone. He wouldn’t be shocked if Bin commented on it.

When they hung up, Dongmin found that he was even more giddy than usual. Somehow the thought of playing a difficult composition for Bin amped up his competitive streak. He wanted to do better than the nameless faces Bin had heard play _Passacaglia_ before. He wanted to make Bin’s mouth drop. He wanted Bin to be speechless with awe and admiration. He wanted Bin to look at him with shining eyes of amazement, and _god_ , he wanted Bin to kiss him as hard as possible out of sheer reverence. 

He dressed quickly, then began to comb his hair back to ensure he looked his best when he showcased his skills for Bin to wonder at.

When Bin came, Dongmin had attempted the piece another time. He had already gotten a bit further, which put his spirits up greatly, and so he answered the door with a wide grin and ushered his boyfriend inside.

“Got here as fast as I could,” said Bin, still sounding like he was out of breath.

Dongmin struggled to control the blush he knew was rising up on his own cheeks. Had Bin really hurried for him? It had only been fifteen minutes; he was early, which meant he must have run to catch a bus or a taxi. It was sweet, thinking of Bin taking any means necessary to get to his place sooner rather than later, and while Dongmin found it easy to control his blush, he couldn’t rid himself of the smile that crept onto his face.

“I’m glad you did!” he teased, closing the door behind Bin. 

“Well,” Bin murmured. _He_ was flushed, though Dongmin wasn’t sure if it was from running and rushing or just from simple embarrassment. Either way, Bin thought the blush looked good on Dongmin and so he chose not to mention it.

Instead of trying to defend himself, Bin just cleared his throat and gestured down the hallway. “Show me the composition.”

“Right.” Dongmin led Bin into the large room that held his grand piano. He had adjusted the lights; dimmer, he thought, was more romantic. He had also closed the blinds, determined that none should see any romantic interactions between him and Bin. He wanted their moments to be private, for gallivanting around and displaying affection publicly wasn’t really Dongmin’s idea of _cute_.

He sat on the piano bench. Bin stood nearby, eyes ever watchful. “It’s difficult,” Dongmin mentioned. “I usually mess up around ten minutes in. I’m able to get so close to the end, but this one part...my fingers have to move too fast, and I think...I mean, I told Myungjun I’m a bit rusty. It’s been a while since I’ve played such a difficult piece.”

He knew he was rambling a bit in an attempt to get his mind off Bin’s gorgeous figure, standing there in the dim lights and staring at him with such a serious expression. He looked — dare Dongmin say? — _hot_ . He looked incredibly and beautifully _hot_ , and Dongmin wondered if he would be able to even breathe at all while playing the composition. 

“Let me, uh, let me start,” he stammered out, determined to stop talking so much. Talking so quickly was never a good idea. He felt flustered, and he knew if he kept talking he would likely say something stupid.

So he began to play instead, fingers moving gracefully across the keys, his eyes kept down to the notes. He wouldn’t look at Bin. He _couldn’t_ look at Bin, for if he did, he would falter and everything would fall apart.

He remembered Myungjun up on stage, how his eyes were drawn to Jinwoo, how his career was ruined after but a simple glance. Surely it would be the same for him. If he met Bin’s gaze, he would fail. Bin would cause his demise.

God, he was so hot. Dongmin wouldn’t even mind if his career was in shambles because of Bin’s gaze. If that were to be his fate, then he accepted it.

Even thinking of Bin watching him was too much, however, and Dongmin’s fingers missed some keys earlier than he had expected. He trailed off, hitting one key in frustration, though he didn’t feel as angry as he thought he might.

Still, despite the too-early completion, Bin still clapped loudly. He cheered for Dongmin as if he were in a rowdy crowd of college students, and when Dongmin smiled shyly, Bin exclaimed, “You did _awesome!_ ”

“I didn’t finish. I messed up.”

“Yeah, but you still did awesome!” Bin walked over to the piano and softly stroked it, fingers creating smudge marks on the otherwise pristine, laminated hardwood. “And you looked hot.”

Dongmin felt breathless for a second time today. Or was it a third time? He had lost count. “Did I?” he asked.

“Yup.” Bin grinned deviously. “But I think I know why you can’t finish it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your mind is elsewhere.”

“Is it?”

Bin leaned closer to him. Dongmin felt trapped. He felt like he was prey, perhaps a timid, quaking rabbit, pinned in a corner by a ferocious wolf. He quite liked that feeling. 

“I think you want something else,” Bin whispered.

Dongmin did. Oh, god, he wanted something else. He wanted to do an activity in his bedroom, far from the piano, with only Bin by his side. He asked, “What do I want, then?” content with playing the demure role Bin had handed to him. If he was roughhoused by Bin, he would be delighted.

Bin smirked and murmured, “You want to play _4’33”_ ,” he said.

It had gone a completely different direction from what Dongmin had hoped for. 

Maybe Bin was an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my olive branch to the binu fans. if u dont love me after this, i doubt u ever will

**everything in me feels fluttering and free,**

**like I could take off from the ground at any second.**

**[music](https://youtu.be/xjYQlmpS69k), i think, he makes me feel like music.**

They didn’t discuss possible compositions for a short time. Dongmin, mostly frustrated with Bin’s lack of sexual desire, had stood from the piano bench and quickly asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

Bin could eat an entire house, probably, and still find room in him for dessert. He eagerly nodded at Dongmin’s question, forgetting about  _ Passacaglia _ and  _ 4’33” _ for the time being as he followed Dongmin into the kitchen. 

“I only had a little bit to eat,” he claimed, sitting himself down on a barstool as he allowed Dongmin to rifle through the fridge for something to cook.

“Really?” Dongmin asked, though his mind kept wandering. He thought of kissing Bin, pinned by his strong arms against the piano. He thought of Bin sweeping him off his feet. He thought of Bin shirtless, and that thought almost made him drop the can of tuna he had picked out.

In an effort to clear his mind, he decided to put his entire focus on the meal, and he asked, “What did you eat before coming here?”

“Breakfast,” responded Bin. “Just an omelette and rice. Oh, and Jinwoo had some cup ramen, so I ate some of that afterwards. And a coffee.”

It sounded like quite a lot to Dongmin, but he was well aware of Bin’s eating habits at this point. There was no reason to comment on the amount, and so Dongmin said instead, “I don’t think ramen is necessarily a breakfast food.”

Bin hummed lightly. “No. Not really. But it was good. Nothing like a ridiculous amount of sodium to wake you up in the mornings, right?”

Dongmin hesitated to respond, and in his silence, Bin laughed at him.

“What are you making?” he asked.

Dongmin laid out his ingredients, pleased that he didn’t have to add his own opinion to Bin’s ridiculous statement. “Kimchi stew with some tuna.”

“Ooh!” Bin was interested almost instantly. He leaned forward to better look upon the preparation Dongmin was putting forth. “You already had some kimchi, then?”

With a small nod, Dongmin replied, “Myungjun made it for us a few nights ago. I’ve been eating on it since then. It’s really good, promise.”

“Let me taste!”

He had grown used to all of Bin’s little demands. He thought sometimes that Bin had no tact, but it was only like this, in moments where he was truly comfortable to joke around and be himself, that he made any sort of demands. Besides, Dongmin found that he adhered to these demands rather easily. Something about Bin was like a magical pull, and Dongmin had to listen else he regret it.

So he brought over the container of kimchi and let Bin take a small forkful. Bin eagerly ate what had been given to him, though he winced and asked, “Why is it so spicy?”

“Myungjun is very liberal with his use of gochugaru,” Dongmin teased. “I’ve become accustomed to his spicy meals.”

He could tell that Bin was suffering and so Dongmin made him a glass of water to help ease some of the pain brought forth by the red pepper flakes that crowded Myungjun’s homemade kimchi. 

Bin panted, though Dongmin knew it was mostly for show, and commented, “He really must like spicy foods.”

“I’m certain he’s burned his taste buds off when he was a kid,” Dongmin replied. “Or else he wouldn’t dare take a bite out of this.”

“And you eat it just fine?”

Dongmin laughed. “Well, maybe I’ve also ruined my taste buds. Who knows.”

As he cooked the meal, exchanging witty banter with Bin all the while, he couldn’t help but think that his sour mood had cleared up quicker than he assumed it would. He was now jovial, now ready to joke and laugh and have as much fun with Bin as possible. It hadn’t taken long at all, and he knew he could attribute that to Bin and his bright personality.

They sat together on the balcony to eat. The weather was warm and a cool breeze provided Dongmin with some much-needed air. As Bin sipped at the soup, he made noises of exclamation, clearly enjoying the meal that Dongmin had put together. 

“You can’t even taste the heavy gochugaru,” Bin pointed out. “Seriously, it’s like a brand new type of kimchi.”

“It’s easy to offset in soups,” Dongmin told him, trying his best to stop grinning like an idiot. He kept grinning these days, unable to cease, simply because Bin talked to him. Bin sat with him. Bin treated him like a king, like royalty, like a truly loved man.

And now, as Bin sat there slurping at the soup, Dongmin wanted to do the same back to him.

He opened his mouth to talk, to say something that would’ve been either cheesy or stupid (or, likely, both), but then Bin suddenly blurted out, “I’m excited for the concert.”

It was in four days, a fact Dongmin just realized. He sighed and muttered, “I have to get my piece down before then.”

“Yeah,” Bin agreed, and he laughed when Dongmin glared at him. “Oh, come on, it’s a joke! Besides, I know you’ll be able to get it. And, if not, there’s always  _ 4’33”. _ ”

“I’m not…” Dongmin trailed off with another sigh. Perhaps it was silly of him to try and deter Bin from talking about  _ 4’33” _ . Bin would talk regardless. “Have all the children been trained?” 

Bin nodded his head. “Yeah. If you wanted to work with another one, though, you definitely can, just like we talked about. Myungjun’s done a good job—”

“Then just let him do it,” Dongmin muttered. Myungjun was better than him, anyway. Myungjun could play  _ Passacaglia _ without much issue. Myungjun deserved to be the teacher, not him.

Bin blinked at Dongmin’s sudden frustration, then said, “I can do that. They’re just playing very basic stuff, though.  _ Für Elise _ for one, but the other is playing  _ River Flows in You _ , you know. She’s doing really well.” He shoveled more food in his mouth and only chewed briefly before adding, “My kids are doing good, too! Got two of them working on  _ Au Clair de la Lune _ to play together, and a more advanced kid is doing a Ferdinand Kuchler concertino with Myungjun accompanying him on piano.”

“What about you?” Dongmin asked, not incredibly enthused to hear that even children were faring better than he was.

Bin smiled proudly. “Sciarrino’s 6 Caprices. It’s hard, but it sounds really pretty when I play.”

“I bet it does,” Dongmin muttered. Even Bin was performing a difficult concert piece. Dongmin wanted to curse, but he found himself unwilling to show Bin his more pessimistic and angry side. He  _ needed _ to remain positive regardless of every other musician in their group showing him up.

“Why don’t we try your piece again?” Bin asked, but he clapped his hands in excitement. “Better yet, why don’t  _ I _ try your piece?”

Dongmin blinked. “I didn’t know you could play the piano.”

“I can’t, but it’d be fun to try it out, anyway!”

Dongmin thought that Bin would give up after seeing the music sheets, but he looked so happy to even have the opportunity to play. Besides, Dongmin thought it would be nice to see Bin seated at his piano, hands moving fluidly across the keys. Even if he stumbled and ended up failing miserably, Dongmin wanted to watch him play.

“Sure,” he agreed, finishing off the last of his soup. “Then I’ll work on mine.”

Bin kept grinning all the while, even as they washed and dried the dishes. He hurried over to the grand piano when Dongmin gestured for him to, then instantly took a look over the notes.

“Yeah, these look hard,” he commented.

“Think you can do it?”

“Oh, no, not at all. But it’d be fun to try, anyway.” He tapped on a few keys. “The extent of my knowledge with the piano is probably  _ Twinkle Twinkle Little Star _ . And I don’t know if I can play even that one anymore. I’m rustier than you are.”

Dongmin knew, at least, that Bin wouldn’t beat him at the piano, so he stood by to watch, smiling as his boyfriend positioned himself correctly.

Bin could only play a few keys before he began hitting the wrong ones.

“That doesn’t sound right,” Bin mumbled, hitting those same keys again.

“That’s because it isn’t,” Dongmin helpfully supplied.

Bin scoffed and tried again. He got one note further before failing miserably. Still, he was good-natured about it. He grinned and laughed and shrugged his shoulders with a lack of care that Dongmin wished  _ he _ possessed. 

“I tried. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” he asked. He positioned himself to play again and began a small rendition of  _ Twinkle Twinkle Little Star _ , which sounded awful and went rather slowly. 

Still, he looked attractive, crouched over the piano and concentrating with all his might. Bin had strong hands, which caused many of his notes to come out too harsh, but Dongmin stared at them with apprehension before moving to look up at Bin’s cheerful expression. He was precious and cute and Dongmin decided he would love Bin forever and ever, probably.

Bin finished his song and looked up at Dongmin as if awaiting some sort of praise. Dongmin, however, felt breathless with this newfound eternal adoration. He was caught off guard by how much he cared for Bin, and he wasn’t certain how to express such love.

“Hey, Dongmin?” Bin urged, and then Dongmin acted.

In lieu of praise, he did the only other romantic thing he could think of; he kissed Bin.

He leaned forward and kissed Bin hard on the lips, holding onto the edge of his grand piano for balance. He expected the kiss to be short and sweet, but then Bin wrapped his arms around Dongmin’s body and pulled him closer. Dongmin’s hand slipped and he caught his balance again by placing it down on the keys, creating a high-pitched note as he continued the kiss with Bin.

Bin leaned back, accepting the intrusion with little hesitation. His back hit more keys, and together they created a short symphony, a musical number that lasted all of three seconds before the sound tapered off. Dongmin thought he liked their music better than any other he had heard before. It was a masterpiece in its own right. It told a simple story, leaving an open ending that the audience could imagine for themselves.

Bin moaned into the kiss and wrapped his legs around Dongmin’s waist. The music was now the noises they made; the whines and the moans and the sound of their lips moving together with as much harmony as their musical number had held.

Dongmin wondered if their music would count as a composition. He wondered if they would have movements and pauses and if the music would speed up and then slow down. He wondered if their music would convey all the emotion that Dongmin always wished music could hold within it.

As Bin tugged at his shirt, Dongmin realized that this would be their own private concert.

And it would be a masterpiece.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

It was difficult to sleep. Dongmin’s heart was still racing and he was unable to quiet it down. He listened instead to Bin’s breathing and to the soft  _ tick-tock _ of his grandfather clock and to the door opening and closing softly when Myungjun finally decided to return home.

Dongmin sighed and stared over at his boyfriend, a smile plastered onto his face. Bin looked so serene when he was asleep. His lips jutted out just slightly, creating an adorable pout, and his nose scrunched up whenever he adjusted himself in sleep for better comfort. He was precious, and Dongmin couldn’t believe that Bin was in  _ his _ bed, under  _ his _ sheets, wearing  _ his _ pajamas. It was a dream come true.

Bin had changed so much about Dongmin’s life. Bin had turned it all upside down. Bin had challenged every single belief that Dongmin had held deep within him. Bin had decided to stick around through  _ everything _ . He had dealt with Dongmin’s unpleasant personality and stubborn resolve. He had fixed what needed to be fixed and then still continued to come around and change Dongmin’s life even more.

It had been changed for the better, and Dongmin wanted to sing Bin’s praises from the highest rooftop possible.

He sat up from bed. Bin made some soft noises in his sleep before turning over, and Dongmin sat in silence for a minute or two, praying he hadn’t woken his boyfriend. Fortunately, Bin remained fast asleep, and Dongmin stood from his bed and stretched briefly before grabbing his slippers and sticking them on his feet.

He made his way out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and then tip-toed down the hallway, past the guest room that contained Myungjun and past the other spare room he had yet to do anything with.

The grand piano lay just within his reach, shining magnificently in the moonlight that streamed in from across the hallway. Dongmin entered the room and shut that door, as well, relishing in the silence that seclusion could create.

Silence was beautiful.

Bin had been trying to make Dongmin understand that simple fact for such a long time.  _ Silence is beautiful. Silence is music. _ And while Dongmin had moments of clarity, certain periods where he nodded along in agreement, he had never before felt Bin’s belief hit him so suddenly.

_ Silence is beautiful music _ .

That was the reason for  _ 4’33”. _ The composer wished to show that everyday sounds can be music if one listens hard enough. The sound of a cough or someone’s chair creaking. The sound of a child giggling or a parent shushing them. The sound of Bin’s heart beating heavily within his chest, matching Dongmin’s own heart to a point. Those all made up the beautiful symphony that is life.

Dongmin sat at the bench and ran his fingers lightly over the keys. He gave them a quick pat, making sure not to press down. “Sorry,” he murmured, apologizing for all the stress he put them through earlier in the day.

He looked down at his cell phone.  _ 1:36 _ read the time, and Dongmin waited until the exact moment it turned  _ 1:37. _ Then he placed his phone down and sat still, staring at the keys and awaiting the next movement of the composition.

He couldn’t hear much, save for his own heartbeat. It still continued with its excited movements, and that alone was enough of a song for Dongmin. It was the song of love and joy, of exhilaration and lust. Dongmin could listen to that song over and over again, and he smiled as he watched the time change on his phone. 

First movement.

He closed the cover and watched his phone again. Myungjun had used a timer last time they practiced it, but this time Dongmin wanted his own mind to work and to let him know when the movements were coming. He wanted to immerse himself in the silence that  _ 4’33” _ offered, in the music that he could create with absolutely no sound.

Second movement.

He opened the piano cover and then closed it again after a few seconds, just like in the video he had seen, just like Myungjun had trained him to do so. Then he sat again and waited. He closed his eyes this time, counting down the seconds in his head. Anticipation rushed through his body. That was music, too, wasn’t it? 

Third movement.

This time, the door opened and Bin’s head popped into view. Dongmin smiled at him and Bin drew in breath to ask a question, but Dongmin shook his head.  _ Silence _ was what he wanted. He wanted the beautiful music of silence.

His heart beat even faster at the mere sight of Bin standing there in all his sleepy glory. He looked positively adorable in Dongmin’s matching pajama set, with his hair in disarray and his eyes squinting through the darkness.

Four minutes and thirty-three seconds finally passed and Dongmin stood from his seat with a loud sigh. “Sorry,” he whispered, still in fear of waking Myungjun. “Did I disturb your sleep?”

“No,” Bin murmured, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “Or, yeah, I guess. In a way, yeah. I just wanted to curl into you and you weren’t there.”

Dongmin was thankful the lighting in the room was dim, for he was certain he had a blush on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he apologized again. “I needed...I couldn’t sleep. I decided to come and practice.”

Bin smiled and asked, “Was that  _ 4’33” _ I heard?”

“You didn’t hear anything. It’s silent.”

“It’s music.” Bin stepped into the room. “I heard your heart racing. It’s impossible not to hear it in such silence. I heard my own heart beating to match your rhythm. I heard all my memories of last night come back like a waterfall, spilling into my brain, and I heard the excitement of this dumb composition. It was music, Dongmin, and I recognize good music when I hear it.”

Dongmin giggled from Bin’s explanation of  _ 4’33” _ , but he agreed with such musings. Originally,  _ 4’33” _ had been nothing but a nuisance, a fake composition made to distract Dongmin from the real music he ought to be playing. But now he recognized what Bin had been saying all along. He heard music in silence.

He took Bin in his arms and kissed him lightly on the lips. Bin’s hand cupped at his cheek and he returned the kisses with practiced ease.

“I love you,” Bin muttered against his lips, his eyes remaining closed.

Dongmin bumped their noses together, wanting to stay as close to Bin as their bodies would allow. He wondered if their souls were intertwined; it sure felt that way.

“And I love you,” he whispered, and the music created in that silence was the most glorious music Dongmin had ever heard in his entire life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are. the end. binu fans, please accept me though i still am not a binu fan myself
> 
> dongmin, tho ;A; he come a long way folks

_**I remember loving sound before I ever took a[music](https://youtu.be/JTEFKFiXSx4) lesson. ** _

_**And so we make our lives by what we love.** _

The day of the concert arrived far quicker than any of them had expected it to. Dongmin ran back and forth between the venue, organizing things with the director and with Myungjun, and to his own apartment, where he would practice  _ Passacaglia _ with more precision and fluidity than he had ever felt before in his life. Through it all, Bin stuck to Dongmin’s side, processing payments by audience members and fielding interested calls. He also led a few tours of his school to several people who would attend at the highest levels. They wanted to see what their money was going toward, and Bin proudly told the others at dinner one night that his tours ended pleasantly, with happy donors and promises to send even more money after the concert.

Myungjun cheered, already tipsy on the amount of soju he had been consuming, while Jinwoo smiled beside his boyfriend and worked on making sure Myungjun didn’t knock anything over in his great joy.

“But of course,” Bin added at the end of his impromptu speech, “none of this would’ve come to be without Dongmin leading us all!”

Myungjun gave a holler and a whoop and his soju sloshed in his glass as he picked it up to drink. 

“You  _ have _ done really well,” Jinwoo said, wiping the spills off the table as any dutiful boyfriend ought to. “The concert hall looks pretty and everyone seems excited.” He glanced at Bin. “Is it sold out yet?”

Bin nodded his head. “As of two hours ago, yeah. The last seats have been purchased. We have sponsors, too, that will cover everything.” Bin then eyed Dongmin suspiciously and mused, “And I think we have a famous sponsor in our midst.”

It was true; Dongmin  _ had _ put down money to sponsor the concert. He said nothing, however, unwilling to implicate himself in the matter, and so Bin continued on with his conspiracy. “The name was  _ Cha Eunwoo _ , but I can’t find any information about a Cha Eunwoo online. It’s not connected to a company, or to any other musicians, and when I first told Dongmin about it, he only said, ‘Sounds interesting.’ Isn’t that shady?”

Myungjun slurped up some of his soju and poked Jinwoo, as if to get his attention. Loudly, he whispered, “That was Dongmin.”

“It wasn’t,” Dongmin retorted with a scoff. “No one can prove it was me. If I wanted to give Bin money, I’d do it right here and now. I’d write him a check or something.”

“You wouldn’t,” Myungjun teased. “You hate giving money publicly.”

“Well.” Dongmin rolled his eyes and drank some more in an attempt to dispel the blush growing on his face. “Regardless, I wouldn’t do it anonymously and let Bin sit here in confusion.”

Myungjun shrugged his shoulders. He reached to grab more of the soju, but Jinwoo shoved it away from him. Myungjun didn’t seem too upset by the slight, however, and he leaned on his boyfriend as he said, “All I’d have to do is log onto his bank account and figure out if it was him.”

“You know his password?” Jinwoo asked, astonished.

“Of course I do.”

Dongmin furrowed his eyebrows. “This is news to me, too, Jinwoo. Jun, how the hell did you figure out my password?”

Myungjun laughed and then looked down at his wrist. He wore no watch, but he still exclaimed, “Jinwoo, look at the time! We should probably get going!”

Dongmin expected Jinwoo to argue the point, but Jinwoo truly  _ was _ a dutiful boyfriend. He obliged to Myungjun’s whims, and he stood from his seat and pulled Myungjun up alongside him. “Night, then,” he said to Bin and Dongmin. “I gotta get this idiot home before he drinks himself into a stupor.”

“It’s free alcohol,” Myungjun whined as Jinwoo dragged him off. “You know I won’t ever say no to free alcohol!”

He waved to Bin and Dongmin, who both returned the goodbye with lackluster energy, and then silence befell the table.

Bin took another shot of soju. He placed the glass down with precision, calm and slow in his movements, and asked, “Want to order some more tteokbokki or are you about ready to leave?”

Dongmin had been sipping on his own glass, knowing that his tolerance was lower than Myungjun’s. He didn’t want to be drunk just yet, either, not when there was still so much to do in order to prepare for the concert. Still, Bin looked to be having fun, a smirk tilting up the corners of his mouth and a hand halfway raised, ready to call over the waitress for more food.

“I’m still a little hungry,” Dongmin lied, hopeful that Bin wouldn’t bring up  _ Cha Eunwoo _ anymore if they were eating. Bin was easily distracted by food.

Bin’s smirk turned into a full grin and he shot a hand up in order to get the attention of the sweet, old woman nearby, who promised to bring him more food and called him a “hearty, young man.”

Dongmin agreed. Bin truly  _ was _ a hearty, young man who could devour next to anything as long as it was plated and laid out in front of him. But Dongmin didn’t mind. He liked watching Bin eat. Bin was a messy eater and stuffed as much in his mouth as he could handle, but it still made Dongmin smile.

While they waited for the food to be ready, Bin propped his chin up by the palm of his hand and sighed. “I haven’t felt this carefree in a while, you know. My school’s been hanging on by a thread. I’ve assumed we’d go under  _ so _ many times and I’ve lived in fear of that happening. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stared at the school’s bank account and wanted to cry. And now, finally, I feel like it’s all going to be okay.”

There was something else to smile at now, Dongmin realized. He smiled at Bin, at the hope flourishing about, at Bin’s acceptance that things, finally, would work out okay. 

And then, though Dongmin liked to remain humble, he still felt such pride fill his chest.  _ I helped with this _ , he thought. He  _ did _ help, didn’t he? He established this benefit concert and solicited donors and worked hard to ensure Bin’s school could prosper. While he initially had selfish reasons for it (those being he wanted Bin to like him even more), the process had been far more enjoyable than he had ever assumed. He had the chance to rifle through ideas with Myungjun and Jinwoo, to listen to the young students passionately play their instruments, and to establish a future for a school that helped so many children make it through life.

Along the way, perhaps he had made some of his own adjustments in life. He felt like a different person. He was no longer rigid, no longer a strict rule-follower. He  _ loved _ creativity and imagination. He liked hearing new types of music, music that broke through his established mold, and the thought filled him with an abundance of joy.

He owed it all to Bin, for Bin truly forced him to leave his comfort zone. Bin forced him to face the wild, and Dongmin found he loved every last second of this new life they had carved out together.

“I love you,” he blurted out, feeling quite unable to keep his feelings locked away inside.

Bin looked up at him, rice cakes dangling from his mouth. He slurped them up, though the sauce remained plastered on his chin, and he responded, “I love you, too, Dongmin.”

“I can’t wait for the concert,” Dongmin continued, staring dreamily over at his messy boyfriend. “I can’t wait to see you play the violin on stage. I can’t wait to hear everyone applaud for what you’ve done. I can’t  _ wait _ for the cause to shine through and for everyone to toss their money at your wonderful school.”

He managed to make Bin blush. His boyfriend laughed a little and shrugged his shoulders. “My violin skills aren’t  _ that _ fantastic.”

“You probably won’t even have to go outside to busk anymore after this.”

“I like busking. It’s always nice to play the violin outside.”

Dongmin rolled his eyes, though he still smiled. Bin was stubborn; that was part of the reason Dongmin liked him so much. He hoped Bin would never, ever change his ways.

“Fine, you can busk. I’ll sit with you and cheer you on.”

“As I would expect from you.”

They continued eating then, laughing and talking and drinking all the while, and Dongmin found himself wishing that the day of the concert would come even sooner.

He couldn’t wait to make Bin’s dreams come true.

**♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪**

As it turned out, Bin was the person most nervous about the concert. Backstage, he jittered, even as the students remained calm and talked among themselves.

“There’s so many people!” he whispered to his small group of friends, peering out from behind the curtains as the audience worked on taking their seat. “How can I play to so many people?” When he didn’t receive an instant response, he looked back at Jinwoo. “Why aren’t  _ you _ freaking out? I know you’ve never played in front of such a large crowd.”

Jinwoo shrugged his shoulders, looking up from where he was practicing drums without using the actual drums. “I’ve played with bands a lot. I’m used to crowds. Usually, mine are rowdier. Louder.”

“Jinwoo’s not freaking out,  _ and _ he’s not even playing the usual drums!” Myungjun cooed, sidling up next to his boyfriend and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “He’s so cool and composed!”

Jinwoo seemed to like such attention. He grinned, a cute, gummy smile, before ruffling Myungjun’s hair. “Keep sweet-talking me,” he ordered. “Let me go check on the kids, first, okay?”

“Got it!” Myungjun beamed as his boyfriend walked over to the small group of children, likely to give them a pep-talk.

Dongmin wanted to act sweet toward his boyfriend, just as Myungjun was able to, and he wanted to comfort his boyfriend, just as Myungjun was able to. Instead of being adorable and sweet, though, all that came out was, “I think you’ll do fine, Bin.”

Bin glowered at him. “You only  _ think _ I’ll do fine?”

“I  _ know _ you’ll do fine.” Dongmin straightened his suit, trying to hide a smile. He enjoyed teasing Bin, though he knew it wasn’t the best thing to do in such a situation. He  _ needed _ to be as kind and supportive as Myungjun. He needed to prove that he was more than just a famous pianist; he wanted to be a fantastic boyfriend, a loyal companion, a helpful partner.

But, of course, they were backstage and in the view of many others. He couldn’t just wrap his arms around Bin and kiss him as he longed to do.

He grabbed Bin’s hands instead and murmured, “Binnie, just ignore the audience. Pretend you’re out on the streets again. Pretend you’re  _ wowing _ everyone with your talents as they rush to their jobs or else linger beside you with coffee and ice cream. And always remember that you’re doing this for  _ them _ .” He nodded over to the students, who were listening with rapt attention to Myungjun’s little speech, which seemed to consist of bizarre hand movements.

Bin took a deep breath and nodded his head. He looked a little less flustered. He looked ready to handle anything, and he whispered, “I can do this.”

“You can do this!” Dongmin repeated, grinning widely. He heard the director of the venue take the stage and he cleared his throat. “Let’s go out there when he calls us, alright? Let’s go out there together and make willing donors out of every single person in the crowd.”

“Together. Right.” Bin looked out at the stage, where the spotlight illuminated the old, suave director, and he grasped onto Dongmin’s hand. “I’m ready.”

And they did it together. They both went out on the stage; Dongmin released his hand once they were in view of the audience, knowing that their relationship needed to be kept under wraps for the time being. 

He bowed and introduced himself to loud claps, but he didn’t revel in the moment as he normally would. Instead, he gestured to Bin and announced, “I’d like to introduce Moon Bin, president of the Young Musician’s Performing Arts Center, a wonderful school where students are trained in a variety of instruments. Moon Bin is my colleague and he has become my very best friend.”

Bin glanced at Dongmin, and Dongmin shot him a wide smile, feeling far more alive than he ever had before. “He’s opened my eyes to a world I never thought I’d enjoy, a world where students can absolutely destroy my ears while warming my heart. He’s challenged me on my views and my thoughts and even my technique. He’s made me embrace the word  _ creativity _ , a stance I honestly never believed in before I met Moon Bin. He’s changed my life, really, and I’ve learned so much about  _ all _ the lives he’s changed, all of the kids who have bettered themselves through music at Bin’s school.”

Bin was smiling, too, nerves completely erased. Dongmin thought he looked breathtaking, his hair slicked back and his face shining for the whole world to see.

Dongmin took a deep breath and finished his tiny speech, detailing what the program would consist of and asking for help to make Bin’s school prosper as it ought to. When he finished to a polite round of applause, he was surprised to see Bin take the microphone, hands shaking.

The audience fell silent. Dongmin, especially, fell silent, eager to see what courage his boyfriend would produce.

“I have to thank Dongmin for putting this on,” Bin said, forgoing any sort of official greeting. “He’s done so much for me. I never thought my school would even last this long, but I already have several amazing donations from people who wish to see young children succeed in life. And that’s what my school’s about — helping children to succeed. I know this isn’t the concert many people pay good money to hear. I know tastes in these venues are very refined and perhaps the chosen songs you will listen to today are the exact opposite of refined. But the students have worked extremely hard to make something pleasing to the ear. They’ve come every single day, after their primary school releases, and they practice well into the night. Some of them come on the weekends, too. And then some of them beg for us to stay open until the morning because there’s nothing familial about their home. Many of these students are in bad situations. Some come from foster care or orphanages; others have parents who disregard them or neglect them. Music is a source of comfort for these children, and with your help, they can continue to have music guide them through life, in the form of their wonderful teachers and volunteers.”

He cleared his throat and looked over at Dongmin for support. Dongmin nodded his head and gestured to the crowd, and Bin added one last statement. “You can give donations in the form of a check or card payment.”

The audience laughed, and when Bin finished with a small bow, they cheered for him, too.

Then the concert began.

It was spectacular. The children showcased their talent and displayed their hard work. They were promising kids, too, and Dongmin was pleased when the crowd gave all of them standing ovations. Myungjun was only an accompanist with another student, but he seemed to have forgotten all of his stage-fright woes; it was clear that he was focused on making certain the kids were the star of this performance. 

Dongmin played  _ Passacaglia _ , no longer concerned about mistakes. His more relaxed approach definitely helped the piece, and he finished with no trouble. He could see Bin clapping louder than anyone else just offstage and he laughed as he took his bow.

When Bin played, though, Dongmin decided  _ that _ was his favorite part. He astonished the audience. He moved with such fluidity, with such grace, treating the violin as if it was just a separate limb on his body. He made known his skill, and he created  _ music _ .

Dongmin hugged him tightly when he walked backstage, kissing his cheek with a ferocity that made Bin whisper, “I want to see more of that when we get home tonight.”

“Oh, god, shut up,” Dongmin scolded him, though Bin could only giggle wildly as his nerves caught up to him.

The end of the concert neared. After Jinwoo finished an interesting solo with only a snare drum in front of him (and received much love from Myungjun in response), Dongmin gathered the students to follow him. Bin watched in confusion.

“We have nothing left on the program,” Bin said, noticing that Dongmin was readying himself for one last performance.

Dongmin smiled at Bin. “I decided to add it at the last minute,” he declared. “As a little surprise to you, and to the rest of the crowd.” He patted Bin’s chin and murmured, “I bet you’ll be proud of me.”

“I’m always proud of you.” 

“Well, proud _ er _ .” He grinned and didn’t give Bin any chance to respond before returning to the stage, the students following behind him with their instruments. He had them sit just nearby, and then he bowed to the crowd before taking his own seat on the piano bench.

He could feel all eyes on him, and  _ now _ he gave himself the opportunity to revel in it.

He took a stopwatch from his pocket and pressed a button. A little beep sounded out and then Dongmin placed it on his piano.

_ First movement. _

He sat still. The audience watched with bated breath. The students shifted around. One played with the strings on her violin, creating the loudest sound in the large concert hall. Dongmin tried his best to stifle the smile that was pulling at his lips as he listened to the music of silence.

He loved it.

_ Second movement. _

He closed the piano cover. The loud noise made one student jump, then giggle a bit. The audience murmured amongst themselves. The music of confusion, of awkward acceptance, of children struggling to keep still.

_ I love this _ .

The time stretched on. Dongmin kept an eye on his stopwatch, counting down the seconds for the final movement. It felt like it took forever, as he forced everyone within the venue to listen to the music of  _ children _ . Because the children were the true stars, weren’t they? Bin did everything for these students. Bin wanted them to have a future, and the concert  _ was _ their future.

_ Third movement _ .

Dongmin opened the piano cover again. One of the students gave a cough. Audience members cleared their throats. Music was everywhere, and Dongmin closed his eyes briefly before standing and giving a bow. 

Awkward claps ensued and Dongmin couldn’t help but laugh a little. The students clapped the loudest, cheering brightly for him as if he had just performed a masterpiece. And perhaps it  _ was _ a masterpiece. Perhaps Dongmin had created music out of nothing, just as he longed to do.

He straightened but not a second later, Bin came barrelling at him. The crowd clapped louder, some of them laughing as Bin hugged him close, practically suffocating him.

Dongmin couldn’t help but hug back. He saw Myungjun and Jinwoo just offstage, equal grins on both their faces, and even the venue director, waiting for his turn to take the microphone and call an end to the concert, was smiling.

And Bin, sweet Bin who had helped Dongmin come so far, hugged him for all he was worth.

They had created music together.

More importantly, they had created a  _ future _ together, and Dongmin hugged him back, content that perhaps he had not changed the entire world, but he had at least changed himself.

That was all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can catch yo with ya girl seal on her twitter [@thevonseal](https://www.twitter.com/thevonseal). there is where i shall post spoilers, schedules, and general nonsense. i'll continue working on other fanfics during this time of quarantine, which will include [ silence of the sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072075/chapters/52674676), part five of [garlic and blood (and a bit of love)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541464) and whatever else i deem important - maybe some oneshots here and there, maybe a sequel to [out of this world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866918/chapters/24138495), maybe a new mj/dongmin fic I've been working on, and maybe radio silence. who knows.
> 
> regardless, thank you all for dealing with my crappy binu as i struggled through 4'33". It's been an adventure! I loved it, then deleted it, then rebirthed it, then hated it, and it's ending on...love. i do love this fic. i think it's a good fic, despite the horrible binu, and i want to thank each and every person out there who continued to encourage me to finish this fic! im so happy i was able to take the journey with dongmin and find a new world for him to thrive in!
> 
> want the playlist? here it is: [classical binu playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFPSkvnEuN6jwaJOsaldsAg7AMd6EKUUO)
> 
> binu fans, yall insane.


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